


The Gang Meets a Detective Named Luna

by thilesluna



Series: TGMADNL [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Detective!Miles, Drama, FAHC!Michael, Fake AH Crew, Friends With Benefits, Getting Together, M/M, TGMADNL, background Jerevin, background Ryan/Jack, it's a thing!, real actual sex now!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-07-21 20:43:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 42,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7403587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thilesluna/pseuds/thilesluna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why bother with Tindr when you have the Criminal Justice System to introduce you to cute guys?</p><p>Michael gets arrested and meets a Detective names Miles Luna. Detective Luna has never been more glad to have pulled the night shift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Meet Cute in a Police Station

**Author's Note:**

> This is a totally self-indulgent fic because I'm in Lunael Hell and I love them. I'm going to update as I write, so you know, SORRY.

[PLEASE CLICK THIS BECAUSE IT ADDS SO MUCH TO THE TITLE TBH! (shout out to @m4d-m4x on tumblr!)](http://alexanderlozada.com/iasip/?IlRoZSBHYW5nIE1lZXRzIGEgRGV0ZWN0aXZlIE5hbWVkIEx1bmEi)

* * *

 

Recently promoted Detective Miles Luna is not an idiot. He knows that his city isn’t in good shape, he knows that Los Santos is what some people might call ‘not worth saving’ or ‘dirty’ or ‘a literal hell pit filled with demons’.

But hey, it's home, right?

He worked the patrol beat as a uniform long enough to know the ins and outs of Los Santos. He knows which gangs own what, he knows what time of day to avoid certain parts of the city, he knows that if you get in a firefight to keep your goddamned head down and only fire when it's relatively safe. He also knows which cops are dirty. It makes for an awkward lunchroom.

But Miles is a detective now. He wears a goddamn suit to work. And a tie. He's like a real life adult or something (his mom _still_ made him take first day of work pictures in his suit).

Being a detective, surprisingly, comes with a lot of bullshit paperwork. That’s something the TV shows don’t tell you. It's the only thing he doesn't love about his job because everything else is awesome. He has a desk, a partner---Kyle is great---and a shitty unmarked car. He's living the _life_.

There are drawbacks, sure. Like not having time to go out, having weird hours, investigating bloody and gruesome murders that sometimes make him have nightmares. Nothing he can't live with.

Mostly.

He’s filling out _more_ paperwork, stuck on the late-late shift once again, when someone comes over to stand by his desk. “Luna.”

Oh, fuck. Miles scrambles to cover up the fairly obvious doodle of the Master Chief he was working on instead of the forms he was supposed to be doing. “Uh, Captain Hullum, um, hi, hello. You're, uh, you're here late!”

Hullum raises an eyebrow but smiles. "Couple officers picked up Dooley and Jones from the Fakes," he says as an answer. Miles perks up at that.

"Seriously? Holy shi—I mean, that's great, sir." Miles mind starts racing. Jones and Dooley. Dooley is relatively new to the crew, been there a little over a year, but has certainly proved himself time and time again. In heists, kidnappings, intimidation...Dooley has shown his capability. Their file on him is slowly but surely growing.

Jones. Jones has been with Ramsey since the crew took root in Los Santos, his file already bursting. The demolition expert most known for his explosions and the fucking terrifying mini-gun he wields from time to time. He’s also excels in close combat, probably from his days back in New Jersey where his family ran a small underground fighting ring for the local mafia. Jones has been in the shit since the motherfucker could walk.

“Luna, you listening?” Hullum’s voice breaks through to Miles suddenly.

Fucking ADHD.

“Uh, yeah. I’m—I am,” he sputters out.

“Interrogations are all full. Dooley’s in there and so are the whole gang they were trying to take out—“

“Alone? Just the two of them?” Miles asks, surprised.

Hullum shrugs. “Officers said there could have been someone else who got away.”

“Probably Free,” Miles mutters. The three youngest members of the Fakes are constantly going out and starting up trouble. Alcohol is usually involved.

The Captain hums an affirmation. “Probably. The two we have are fairly drunk,” he says. Miles sighs. Okay, _definitely_ Free then. From what he gathers—through observation and stories from others, Free is an agent of chaos. Yeah, all the Fakes have their moments, but when Free is involved it often kicks up a notch. When he was a beat cop, he got called to more than one bar fight where the whole crowd was watching Free take on a guy at least twice his size. He was always surprised how well Free could hold his own.

“So,” Miles says. “Where’s Jones then?”

“In my office,” Hullum says. “I want you to talk to him.”

“Me?” Miles’ voice does _not_ get squeaky and weird. “Uh, why me, sir?”

“You’ve been working in this precinct for the longest of everyone who’s here—excluding myself,” Hullum says. “You know the most about Jones, seen him in action enough times to have an idea of what he’s like. Plus, I want to go home.” Hullum laughs and pats Miles on the back. “Just get whatever you can out of him before the lawyer shows up again.”

The FAHC has a pretty infamous lawyer on their payroll. Joel Heyman seems like a total space case, but Miles has seen him get the Vagabond, who was literally caught _stabbing_ someone, out of custody in under 10 minutes. The guy is _scary_.

“Am I going in alone?” Miles asks.

Hullum sighs. “Unfortunately. We’ve got so many guys in and we’re trying to get them processed as quickly as possible. Besides, I think Jones is more likely to talk to one person.”

“Okay, boss. You got it,” Miles says quickly. Hullum throws him a little salute and shrugs on the coat he previously laying over his arm as he walks out the door. “Alright, Luna,” Miles whispers to himself. He’s gotta psych himself up for this. It’s—he’s never done an interrogation alone before and definitely never with anyone like Jones. “You got this. You totally do. It’s not like he’s killed _that_ many people, right? And he’ll be cuffed and they’ve taken all his weapons.”

He’s not really making himself feel any better.

By the time Miles gets to the Captain’s office he’s pretty nervous and knows that he can’t walk in there that way. He takes a deep breath, counts to 10 and then pushes open the door. Jones is sitting in a chair in front of the desk, ankles cuffed together and one on each hand linked to the arms. He twists in his seat and grins at Miles as he comes in.

“Look at you! A _detective_!” Jones says. “I’m getting the _special_ treatment tonight.”

“Mr. Jones,” Miles says. He’s proud of how steady his voice is. He crosses the room and half-sits on the edge of Hullum’s desk. “Welcome to Precinct 12.”

Jones squints at him. Miles can smell the alcohol on him from here. “What’s your name?”

Miles blinks. “Uh, Detective Luna,” he says. “Now I want—“

“I’m diggin the rolled up sleeves. Very sexy,” Jones says, wiggling his eyebrows. “You’re pretty hot, Detective Luna.”

“And you’re pretty drunk,” Miles shoots back and Jones tips his head back and laughs. Miles starts to sweat.

Objectively, Jones is a really good-looking guy and unfortunately, Miles hasn’t gotten laid in a really, really long time. He watches the long lines of Jones’ neck, watches his Adam’s apple move in the dim light of the office.

Oh boy. Miles is in trouble.

He tears his eyes away from Jones’ neck and realizes Jones is looking at him. Miles clears his throat and folds his arms over his chest. “You know why you’re here, right?” he asks.

Jones purses his lips and squints at Miles again, like he’s thinking really hard. “Jaywalking?” Miles cocks an eyebrow, unimpressed. Jones grins. “Not jaywalking then. Hmm…I honestly feel like I wasn’t doing anything wrong. This is a case of mistaken identity,” Jones says. He gasps. “I’ve been _wrongly_ arrested!” He tries to put a hand to his chest like he’s offended but he’s stopped by the chain from the handcuffs.

Miles almost laughs, but he knows he has to keep a straight face or else he’s gonna get _nothing_ out of Jones. “Yeah? Who were you mistaken for? The other pyromaniac who runs around Los Santos with a fucking leprechaun and a British twink?”

Jones bursts out laughing. “A ‘fucking leprechaun’? Jeremy’s gonna be so fucking pissed off about that when I tell him. I _told_ him not to dye his goddamn hair. Gav’s gonna shit himself laughing.” He smirks at Miles and his eyes travel up and down his body where he leans. Miles feels like he’s under a microscope. “You into twinks, _Detective_?”

Miles narrows his eyes, knows the kind of game Jones is trying to play. Horny or not, he’s a fucking police officer and he can do his job.  “Not really my type,” he says, finally.

Jones leans forward in his chair. “What’s your type then?”

“Law-abiding citizens,” Miles says, deadpan. “And brunettes.” Jones laughs again. It’s quick, like gunfire and Miles really likes it more than he should.

“I mean,” Jones says, gesturing to himself. “1 outta 2 ain’t bad, right?”

Miles rolls his eyes and unfolds his arms to lean forward into Jones’ space. “Wrong.” He stands up straight and Jones reclines, spreads his thighs a little, even with his ankles chained together. Miles can’t help the way his eyes flick down.

Jones’ grin is lecherous. “I don’t know,” he says. “Looks like you’re—”

“Jones,” Miles interrupts. “We’re not here to suck face and make eyes at each other.” He crosses around behind Jones, who lets his head fall back to watch Miles walk, sly smile on his face. “What can you tell me about the gang you and Dooley—and I’m sure Free—were fighting with?”

Jones follows Miles with his eyes. “Never met ‘em before tonight.” He drops his voice conspiratorially. “Between the two of us, I’ve enjoyed meeting you a lot more.” Miles rolls his eyes. “Not that they weren’t fun to play with,” Jones says shrugging. “You just look like _infinitely_ more fun.”

Miles leans in, rests a hand on one of Jones’ thighs. He can hear a sharp intake of breath and he lets himself have a mental fist pump. Two can play at this game. “Can I tell you a secret?” Jones nods. “As good looking as you are, as much as I would love to find something better for you to do with your mouth,” Jones swallows hard, his eyes drop to Miles’ lips. Miles moves right up into his space, close enough that he can feel the exhale Jones lets out as his eyes slip shut. His breath smells like cheap beer and whisky. Miles idly wonders what his lips taste like, but pushes that thought aside. He whispers, “I don’t fuck criminals,” and pushes off, stands away from Jones again, leaning on the desk, smirking.

Jones’ eyes open slowly and he licks his lips. “I’d like to offer myself as an exception to your rule. There really are so many _better_ things I could be doing with my mouth.”

Miles opens his mouth to respond and the door flies open, Joel Heyman bursting through. “Don’t say anything else, Michael,” he practically shouts. Jones winces at the volume and Miles sighs. _Fuck_.

“Looks like our time is up, Detective,” Jones says, pouting as Miles undoes his cuffs. Heyman rolls his eyes and Miles actually feels a little bit sorry that they _don’t_ have more time. He shrugs instead, brushes past Heyman on his way out. “I’ll catch ya later, _Miles_.”

“Nah,” Miles shoots back. “It’s way more likely that I’ll be catching _you_.” He throws in a wink for some reason, hates himself for it but smiles when Jones laughs again.

“We’ll see about that,” Jones says and Miles tries to ignore the way it makes his skin heat.

\---

Michael’s night has been very interesting and as usual, it’s all Gavin’s fucking fault. First of all, Gavin gets him and Jeremy into a bar fight—which is shockingly _un_ shocking unfortunately. Then Gavin takes off when the fucking cops show up and they nab himself and Jeremy. It’s bullshit but it’s not the first time. They get all of the other guys in the fight too and somehow Michael ends up in the Captain’s office with a guy who looks less like an actual cop and more like a bachelorette stripper. The rolled up sleeves _alone_ , Jesus.

Joel escorts him and Jeremy out of the building, muttering the whole time about how pissed off he’s going to be if this fucks up his overseas trading. “Calling me out at two in the fucking morning. I was about to make a serious deal in the gold market!” Michael and Jeremy exchange looks and try to hide their smiles. Joel is a fucking weird guy, but he’s goddamned good at his job.

They climb into a car sent by Geoff and wave goodbye to Joel as he goes off to his own vehicle. “Jeremy, you okay?” Michael asks.

Jeremy frowns. “They didn’t let me make my phone call! I’m like, ninety percent sure that’s a violation of my rights. I totally saw it on Law and Order.” Michael laughs, smacking Jeremy on the shoulder.

“Oh man, Lil J,” Michael says, suddenly remembering. “Remember how I said, ‘Don’t dye your hair green dude’ and you were like, ‘Nah, it’s totally good look awesome’?”

“Yeah?”

“You will not _believe_ what the hot detective called you,” Michaels says laughing.

Jeremy holds up a hand. “Wait, wait, wait. You got a hot detective? That’s such bullshit! I had an old guy that smelled like hard-boiled eggs. I didn’t even know the LSPD _had_ hot detectives.”

“He looked really young,” Michael says. “I’m assuming he’s new.”

“Oooo fresh meat!“ Jeremy coos.

Michael makes a face and pushes at the side of Jeremy’s face. “Dude you’re like 25, stop talking like a cougar at a college bar, it’s fucking weird.”

“So what’s the name of the Future-Mr.-Jones?” Jeremy asks. He pours a glass of champagne from the mini bar and offers it to Michael.

He grabs it from Jeremy’s hand and takes a sip. “Luna, can you fucking _believe_ that? I swear that’s the name of one of the strippers at Cockbite.”

Jeremy chokes on his champagne. “Is it the same guy?” he asks. “That could be a fuckin’ TV show. ‘Dedicated to serving the law by day, dedicated to serving you by night; it’s STRIPPER COP! Coming to NBC this fall. Police too good looking for you? [www.arrestthesebuns.com](http://www.arrestthesebuns.com) for more info’. I’d watch the hell out of that.”

Michael covers his face with one hand, balances his champagne glass on his knee with the other. “Jeremy, no, that Luna’s a girl,” he laughs. “But hell yeah, I’d watch that. Especially if Detective Luna was in it. Dude’s got a face made for sitting.”

“Jesus, Michael,” Jeremy sputters, almost choking on his champagne. There’s a beat and then, “Wait, you said he called me something?”

Michael grins wider than the Cheshire Cat. “He called you a _fucking_ _leprechaun_.”

“WHAT?” Jeremy screeches, utterly indignant. “Is that fucking dig at my hair or my height?”

“Both, dude,” Michael says. He doesn’t stop laughing until they get back to the penthouse.

Gavin grins sheepishly when they walk through the door, apologies already spewing from his mouth. Jeremy and Michael exchange looks and then they chase him around the penthouse. Jack emerges from her room wearing a matching set of pjs covered in tetris blocks. She points a baseball bat at the three of them, glaring at Michael who has Gavin in a headlock and Jeremy running a piece of bread under the faucet.

“Go. The fuck. To sleep,” she spits out. Michael and Gavin split apart. When Jack turns to Jeremy, Michael punches Gavin’s arm lightly. “I saw that,” she growls even though she wasn’t even looking at them.

Michael protests, “But I didn’t even hurt him!” She points the bat at him again, held out behind her while she stares Jeremy down and his mouth snaps shut.

“Jeremy, throw the goddamn bread away,” Jack says and Jeremy dutifully obliges. There’s a wet thunk as the bread hits the inside of the trashcan. Gavin gags and Michael rolls his eyes. “Now go to bed.” She turns on her heel and disappears back into her room.

“Guys, I really am sorry,” Gavin says pitifully.

“Don’t be,” Jeremy calls as he leaves the room. “Michael met a hot cop.”

Gavin lights up. “Oooh, Michael! Tell me about him, boi!”

“Fuck off, Gav. I’m going to bed. I’ve had a rough day. I got _arrested_ , you know,” Michael says, flipping him off.

“But Michael!” Gavin says and in the distance Jeremy mocking repeats it. “Sod off, Lil J!”

Michael laughs. “You guys are so in love, it’s disgusting.”

“Oi! What’re you—Michael what are you on about?”

Michael doesn’t answer, just leaves giggling to himself and passes out the second his body hits the bed.


	2. Jaywalking is a Criminal Offense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is 10% cute flirting, 10% Michael trying to get Gav to make a move, and 80% Miles being a human fucking disaster.
> 
> There's stakeouts, some foreshadowing of what will happen later, another interrogation, and Chinese food.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm updating so early. Literally all I want to do is write this fic. There will be no schedule, just me writing and posting a new chapter when it's done. I really like writing this.

The next morning, Michael still can’t get the hot detective out his head. He has Matt Bragg look up the name ‘Miles Luna’ and snags the printouts on his way to meet Gavin at a stakeout. He folds the papers and sticks them in the inside pocket of his jacket while he buys snacks at the convenience store a few blocks from the meeting location. Michael slides into the passenger seat of Gavin’s car and throws a bag of chips at his face.

“Bloody rude,” Gavin mutters even has he opens the package. Michael kicks his sneakers up on the dash and they sit in companionable silence. It’s pretty nice, actually.

Of course Gavin ruins that immediately.

“So,” he says, dragging out the word in a way that means Michael is about to answer a million—probably stupid—questions. “Jeremy said something about—”

“Having a giant dick?” Michael interrupts.

Gavin’s face flushes and he sputters out, “W-what! No! Why would I—? I’m not—We’re _not_ talking about Jeremy’s dick!”

Michael grins. “Do you want to?”

“You’re—You’re bloody trying to distract me! I’m trying—”

“Do you find Jeremy’s _dick_ distracting?” Michael is partially fucking with Gavin but he’s also tired of those two douchebags dancing around each other. He doesn’t want to spend another night with drunk Gavin leaning on his shoulder and waxing poetic bullshit about ‘lovely, lovely Jeremy’.

“I hate you,” Gavin says, deflating.

“Aw, c’mon Gavvers, don’t be like that,” Michael teases, poking Gavin’s cheek with his index finger. Gavin flails at him with an indignant noise. “What’d you wanna ask?” Gavin wrinkles his nose when Michael keeps poking him, half-heartedly waving him away. “Come on, buddy! I promise I won’t talk about your boyfriend’s dick any more.”

Gain rolls his eyes. “Jeremy was saying you met a hot cop last night.”

Michael laughs. “I did,” he says. “Detective Miles Luna. Wanna spy into his life with me while we wait for this fucker to show up?” He pulls the packet Matt printed for him and wiggles it in front of Gavin’s face.

“Ooh, Michael! You naughty boy, you!” Gavin says, grinning. He makes to grab the papers but Michael moves them at the last second and he gets nothing but air.

“I haven’t even looked yet, Gav! Gosh, stop trying to steal my hot cop from me! What would _Jeremy_ say?” Michael chuckles. Gavin throws a chip at him. He just picks it off his shirt and pops it into his mouth. Michael unfolds the papers and leans over so Gavin can see. Luna’s picture is right at the top. It’s from when he was a beat cop and Michael doesn’t usually have a thing for uniforms but _damn_. Luna looks like he’s a few years younger than he is now, his face is a little thinner and his beard not as thick.

He’s got a little half grin on his face even though Michael is pretty sure they’re not supposed to smile in their official pictures. It’s just like the smile Luna gave him when he leaned over Michael’s lap and whispered with his hand on Michael’s thigh. It was embarrassing how much that really fucking _worked_ for Michael’s dick. The heat of Luna’s hand—god, his hand felt _huge_ —through his jeans and his breath on Michael’s cheek while all he could was sit there because he was handcuffed? He had to will away half a woody when Joel showed up. Michael’s into some weird shit but he didn’t know about that particular side of himself.

Gavin whistles prodding the picture with his finger. It’s got chip grease on it and some of it transfers to the paper. Michael fixes him with a withering look and Gavin smiles sheepishly. “Fuck the police or _fuck_ the police, eh?” he says with an accompanying eyebrow waggle. Michael laughs even though he knows his cheeks are little red from thinking about the station. “Look at his little face!” Gavin says in his squeaky, baby voice, usually reserved for bunnies and other small animals. “He’s cute, Michael.”

Michael clears his throat. “Yeah, he’s like, _beefier_ now though. Bigger, you know?”

“Ooh, Michael, you like them _beefy_?” Gavin giggles.

Michael throws a candy bar at his face and Gavin laughs as he ducks out of the way. “You’re one to talk,” Michael says with a scowl. “Jeremy could probably bench press you.”

Gavin flushes at that. “Why do you—how come you keep saying that, Michael?” He taps his fingers on the steering wheel as he peers through the windshield and Michael wants to roll his eyes because he’s known Gavin long enough to know that means he’s nervous.

Michael clears his throat and Gavin looks over at him. “You know he has a huge gay crush on you too, right?”

Gavin’s ears go pink. “Jeremy?”

“No, fucking Ryan— _yes_ Jeremy!” Michael cries. “Are you seriously fucking blind? He thinks you’re made of sunshine.”

“Michael—”

Michael grins at him, “Personally, I don’t see it,” he says, teasing. He knows Gavin is getting properly flustered and he’s giving him an out of this conversation for the moment.

“Sod off, Michael,” Gavin says, and he’s smiling. He reaches for the packet about Luna again. “He’s a bloody goody-two shoes.”

“Mmm?” Michael hums. He looks to where Gavin is pointing. Luna was very busy as an officer, earning commendations left and right for almost everything. Michael’s actually a little impressed.

“Think he’s dirty?” Gavin asks.

Michael considers it. “Honestly? I don’t think so. He just—he seemed nice, but to be honest, I was a little drunk and a lot distracted by how good-looking he was. There was some definitely flirting happening.” Michael smirks suddenly. “Or do you mean in a sexy way because I was getting some serious vibes.”

Gavin makes a gagging sound. “Boi, I don’t wanna hear about that. Keep it in your pants, yeah?”

Michael opens his mouth to answer but movement from the building they’re watching catches his eye. “Shit, there he is,” he mutters. Their target is one of the richest men in Los Santos, Andrew Larkin, a crooked businessman who has a very bad habit of buying off politicians and police officers to keep himself looking clean, who find ways to pin the crimes on the various gangs in Los Santos, FAHC included. While they generally don’t mind the press—Geoff is very set in the “Any press is good press” frame of mindgLarkin is into things like human trafficking and that shit does _not_ fly. He is a Very Bad Man. Gavin pulls out onto the street, tailing the expensive luxury car that Larkin has climbed into the back of.

To be honest, Michael’s happy that Gavin has the distraction because it keeps him from asking any more questions and it makes it easier for him to justify his newest plan of action. If Gavin found out about it, he’d definitely try to talk him out of it. He _could_ use the number Matt gave him in the packet of info, hell he could go over to Miles’ address if he really wanted, but where’s the fun in that? All Michael has to do now is find a way to get arrested.

He grins to himself while the city passes by. Shouldn’t be too hard at all.

\-----

“Hey Luna!” Sergeant Coe calls, “We got a guy in room 3 who won’t talk to us. Said he’ll only talk to ‘Detective Luna. The one with the pretty eyes’.”

“What the fuck,” Miles mutters. He caps his pen and walks over to where Coe is standing. “What the actual fuck are you—” It’s Michael fucking Jones and he’s sitting in the interrogation chair with his feet on the table like he’s the king of the god _damn_ castle. “What the fuck.”

Coe laughs and punches Miles in the arm. It hurts because Coe is an asshole and much stronger than he realizes, god damnit. He stands on his toes and leans in close, almost nose to nose with Miles. “You know, I never noticed before Luna, but you do have really pretty eyes.”

“Fuck off,” Miles says, he turns and stares through the window at Jones. He waves at Coe weakly while the sergeant walks away laughing, after he hands off the file. Miles flips it open and checks out what Jones did this time. He has to read it twice, just to make sure it’s not a fucking joke. Miles flings open the door, strides over to the table, throwing the file down so it slides across the polished surface. Jones reaches out with his cuffed hands and pulls it toward him.

“I get this file and I ask myself, why would one of the Fakes be in my interrogation room at 11:45 on a Tuesday,” Miles starts off. “I’m thinking to myself, was there a robbery? A heist, maybe? I haven’t heard any explosions recently.” Jones leans back in his chair, looking entirely insufferable and stupidly adorable at the same time. Miles crosses his arms over his chest and hopes Jones doesn’t see it as the tell it is (a shield against all the inappropriate thoughts Miles is having about his goddamn thighs). “I think why is Michael Jones why back in here?” Miles leans over the table, both hands resting on the metal, and brings the file back to his side. “And then I _read_ this file. Actual jaywalking? _Seriously_?” Miles asks.

“I didn’t get your number,” Jones answers and gives him a shit-eating grin.

That’s not what Miles was expecting. “I—What?”

“Last time I was here,” Jones says again, like it’s obvious. “I never got your number and I was thinking to myself, now that would be a _real_ fuckin’ shame.”

Miles blinks as he sits in the chair opposite. “What would?”

“Not getting to see that face of yours again,” Jones explains with a wink.

Miles cocks an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Watch it, Jones—”

He holds up his hands, “Detective Luna, _please_. Call me Michael,” he says. “Can I call you—”

“You can call me ‘Detective Luna’, _Michael,_ ” Miles interrupts, crossing his arms and resting them on the table.

Michael grins. “Kinky.”

Miles leans back and pinches at the bridge of his nose. “What’s the real reason you got yourself put back in here? Are the Fakes planning something? Are you a distraction?”

“I don’t know, _Detective Luna_ ,” he says, his voice dropping low in a way that makes Miles want to crawl inside it and live there forever. “Am I distracting you?”

Something tells Miles that’s a line Jones uses often but he also doesn’t know what to say because _yes_ he fucking is. Miles’ mouth opens and closes a more than once and he’s staring at Jones’ smug face. “I—” he finally manages, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I think you do,” Michael says, leaning forward over the table. Miles feels like he wants move back and away, but he’s caught in Michael’s smile like a fucking tractor beam so he sits, frozen. “Listen, I got arrested for _jaywalking_ and it was literally just so I could get your number.”

“W-why?” Maybe Miles has been out of the dating game for a while, but he thinks that people generally don’t get arrested just to get other people’s numbers. He’s seen some people do some crazy shit, but never that.

Michael shrugs. “I think we could have some fun,” he offers. “I mean, if you’re _really_ not interested I guess—”

“No I—” Miles interjects and then blushes.

Jones’ grin is close to insufferably smug and Miles is kind of already regretting saying anything. “You should give me your number right now. Joel should be here any minute,” Michael says. Miles doesn’t even realize he’s pulled out his little notebook from his jacket pocket and scribbled his number down on a page until he’s sliding it across the table into Michael’s hand. Michael grabs his wrist and drags him a little closer. Miles heart skips—whether it’s in fear or arousal, he’s not sure. “Thanks, Miles,” Michael practically whispers. Miles swallows and just as quickly as Michael had grabbed him, he’s letting go and Miles is falling back into his chair, still staring at Michael’s face.

The door bursts open and Heyman is standing there. “Same guy,” he says, suspicion lacing his tone. “Michael is this guy harassing you?”

Michael tears his eyes from Miles to glance at Heyman just for a moment but his heavy gaze falls back. “Not yet,” he says and Miles knows he’s _fucked_.

\------

When he gets out of work at 5:00, Miles orders approximately four people’s worth of Chinese food to be delivered to his apartment because today is a day to eat his fucking feelings, okay? He doesn’t know when he lost control of his goddamn life but he thinks it might have started when Michael Jones walked into his precinct. The food gets there exactly when he does—he’s got this shit down to a science by this point—and doesn’t even try to play it off like there are more people waiting in the apartment for their dinner. He just quickly pays the delivery guy and hefts his giant bag of food inside to wallow in his own self-loathing.

What in the blue hell was he _thinking_? Miles is a police detective and he gave his number to not only a criminal, but to one of _the_ most dangerous criminals in the city. No matter how cute and cuddly Michael may seem inside the station, Miles is fully aware that he _kills people_ and does it often. What the _fuck_ has he gotten himself into?

Coe asked him, after Heyman and Jones had left, how the interview went. Miles didn’t really have a good answer, just sputtered out that everything went fine and something disparaging about what an asshole Heyman is. Coe laughed and walked away, leaving Miles to mentally draft his letter of resignation from the police force.

It’s not like there are _rules_ per say, for whom police officers can or can’t date, but he thinks that no amount of loopholes can save him from being fired and maybe prosecuted for going out with one of the Fakes. Miles actually thinks it might be easier to just fake his death and run away because then at least, he won’t have to quit the one job he really loves and to save his family from the embarrassment.

He digs into his food—wonton soup first, _always_ —and has just begun to really sink into his own pit of self-pity when his phone starts to ring. It’s like in one of those movies where everything freezes and the camera does the dramatic zoom on the important object.

Miles decides he needs to get out more.

He sets down his spoon and reaches for the phone where it’s ringing and vibrating on the coffee table. The number is one he doesn’t recognize with a Los Santos area code and his heart is in his throat immediately. Holy shit, what if it’s Michael? Should he answer it? If he doesn’t, he could just play this whole thing off. Like, he could just ignore it and then change numbers and precincts so Michael could never find him again. Who is he kidding though, Michael could find him no matter what, probably. The Fakes have so many fucking connections. The phone is still ringing, the number dancing in front of his eyes. He shouldn’t answer. He really shouldn’t.

He does.

“Hello this is the American Red Cross, we’d like to thank you for your donations in the past and let you know about a few upcoming blood drives in your area—”

Jesus _fucking_ Christ. Miles hits the end call button and collapses onto his couch. He idly wonders if this is what hyperventilating feels like but low key knows he’s being super dramatic. He taps out a text to his friend Kerry almost on instinct because he always texts Kerry when he feels like shit. Kerry, his oldest friend, his platonic life bro, the Hall to his Oates. Miles wrinkles his nose at that one. Not the best analogy he’s ever come up with. He shrugs and goes back to his food, slowly working his way through a little bit of everything while he texts Kerry to keep his mind off of all the shit that’s going wrong in his life.

Miles can’t shake a weird feeling. It’s not _relief_ like he thought it would be, that it wasn’t Michael who called. It’s—disappointment? God, is he really disappointed that a known criminal got his number _hours_ ago and still hadn’t called? They were flirting right? Of course they were. Both times and the second time Michael _literally got arrested_ just to talk to Miles. They were definitely flirting.

So why hasn’t Michael called?

And why has Miles turned into a pining teenager?

Goddamnit.

He lays back down on the couch and tried not to think about Michael or how many calories he just consumed or how much his life is _basically_ the plot of a shitty rom com. He continues to text Kerry, his brain racing too fast and his stomach full of delicious Chinese food. Just out of habit—and to bring some life into his very quiet and sad apartment, god all he can hear is himself breathing _gross_ —he flips on the TV and lets himself sulk in the flickering light as the sun goes down outside his window.

The next thing he knows, the light from the TV is the only light in his apartment and he’s being awoken by his phone ringing on his chest while his other hand grips a half-eaten egg roll. Classy.

He hits accept without even looking at the ID because it _must_ be work. “‘Lo?” he says, voice groggy and rough sounding even to his own ears.

“Hello, Detective Luna.” It’s Michael. Holy shit, it’s _Michael_. Miles flails so hard he falls from the couch, hitting the floor with a pained sound. “I, uh, is this a bad time?” Michael asks.

“No! No, not a bad—” Mile searches for an excuse but legitimately can’t come up with a single thing. “I was asleep and then when I answered the phone I didn’t know it would be you and I fell off my couch.”

Michael’s machinegun fire laugh comes over the phone. “Oh my god, dude. I thought Gavin was a fucking mess. Are you okay? Nothing broken?”

Miles closes his eyes and wishes for death. “Just my pride. And the egg roll I fell asleep holding.”

“What the fuck,” Michael says, choking on a laugh. Death would be fantastic right about now, Miles thinks.

“Regretting getting arrested to get my number yet?” Miles groans. He bumps his head softly against the carpet before he picks himself up off the floor and rolls back onto the couch, his phone pressed to his ear.

“I strangely think I’m a little more into you actually,” Michael sighs into the phone. “I’ve never really been known for having good taste, though. I mean my best friend is _Gavin_.”

“Hey!” Miles says. “I’ll have you know my mom thinks I’m a _catch_.” He’s really surprised how easy this is. How talking to Michael feels just like talking to Kyle or Kerry. It’s kind of relaxed and cool—as long as he doesn’t think about the fact that it’s also nothing like Kyle and Kerry because he doesn’t want blow either of them. _God damnit, brain_ , Miles thinks. What the fuck.

“She’s right,” Michael says, voice dropping again, just like in the precinct. It’s his _sexy_ voice.

“Are you trying to sexy-voice the guy who just told that not only did he fall off his couch, but that he fell asleep with an egg roll in his hand?” Miles asks. “Because if so, you really do have shitty taste.”

Michael snorts out a laugh. “Get drinks with me tonight,” he says.

Miles swallows. “Tonight?”

“Yeah, I know a great place downtown. My boss owns it.”

His boss. Geoff Ramsey. His boss who is Geoff Ramsey and who runs the most dangerous crew in Los Santos. Holy fuck. “Okay,” he hears himself saying. “What’s the name of it?”

“I’ll pick you up, don’t worry,” Michael says and Miles can practically _hear_ his grin.

Not that Miles is one to talk, really, considering his face feels like it’s about to split open he’s smiling so hard. “Okay I’ll give you my address.”

“Nah, I’ve got it already,” Michael says. “I’ll be there in like 40 minutes. Clean up your egg roll.” He hangs up.

“What the fuck,” Miles says to his table full of Chinese food. What the _fuck_ has he gotten himself into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on tumblr @scrob-lord for more Lunael trash blogging.


	3. Bars are Overrated Anyway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael arrives to pick up Miles but they get a little....distracted. 
> 
> ((THIS IS THE ONE WHERE THEY BANG. Honestly there's about 200 words of explanation and dialogue and the rest is sex.))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS FIC HAS FUCKING BEAUTIFUL ART NOW! 
> 
> Check before the chapter starts to see awesome art AND a picspam!

[Great art by @nicedynamites on tumblr](http://nicedynamites.tumblr.com/post/147019452288/quick-sketch-for-this-fic-by-scrob-lord-because-i)!  and [a crazy awesome picspam by @shutuprhian on tumblr](http://shutuprhian.tumblr.com/post/147140285202/fahc-and-lspd-crossover-aesthetics-michael-jones)!

* * *

 

It takes five minutes for Miles to process that he’s actually going on a date with Michael. It takes him fifteen to shower off being in a disgusting precinct all day—the smell of old coffee and stale doughnuts, not to mention how the mothball aroma from the dusty evidence room _clings_ to you. He spends the next five berating himself because he hasn’t done laundry in a fucking month, god _damnit_ Luna, you piece of shit, get your fucking _life_ together.

That leaves him the last fifteen to panic and throw clothes around his room and dig in the back of his closet, hating every single piece of clothing he owns. Is this a formal date? Are they wearing button downs? Is this a jeans or slacks occasion? He texts Kerry a series of increasingly anxious messages ranging from “What should I wear?” to “KERRY IS PLAID A FIRST DATE KIND OF THING????” Kerry, being the deplorable person that he is, tells Miles that he should just institute the Naked Man and be waiting for his date totally nude. “Maybe pour some duck sauce on your chest,” Kerry says.

Kerry is the worst.

Miles eventually slides himself into jeans that are probably a little bit too small but make his ass look great, his favorite pair of converses, and a red plaid shirt that his ex once told him he looked really good in. He thinks that maybe it’s too dressed down but when Michael gets here he can always ask. Then he stares at himself in the mirror for a full minute before wrestling himself out of the plaid and swearing because he’s going to a bar owned by Geoff Ramsey, the guy known for wearing a fucking _tuxedo_.

“Fucking god damnit, piece of shit, _fucker_ ,” Miles says, throwing shirts around his room. He pulls on a maroon t-shirt and then freezes when he hears a knock at the door. “Fuck!” He grabs a dark button up, and slides it on fixing the collar and then grabbing a comb from his dresser to run through his hair so it doesn’t look like he’s been panicking for the last 40 minutes. He throws the comb down on the counter as he crosses to the door.

Which he stands in front of, and stares at.

Holy shit, is this actually happening? Is he going on a date with Michael Jones? Is this his real fucking life right now? Does he look like as much of a hot mess as he feels? Will he ever stop asking himself rhetorical fucking questions? The knocking comes again, freeing him from his broken record thinking and Miles flings open the door.

Michael is standing there, smug grin as usual, and _fuck_ does he look good. He’s got a tight black t-shirt on under his brown leather jacket and a pair of dark jeans that are snug on his thighs and that make Miles’ mouth _water_. “Hi,” he says, more than a little embarrassed with how breathy his voice comes out. But Michael’s eyes rake over Miles’ body like he can’t get enough of Miles’ shape, and his smug grin shifts into something a little more lewd. Miles can feel himself start to sweat under the intensity of it all.

“Hey, _Detective_ ,” Michael says, the teasing lilt to his voice music to Miles’ ears. “You ready to go?”

“L-Lemme just---I gotta grab my keys,” Miles says. He half-turns away and then back, swallowing and blushing, “You, um, wanna come in for a minute?”

“I’d _love_ to,” Michael says, delighted. He pushes past Miles and walks deeper into his apartment.

“Fuck,” Miles mutters when he gets over to the counter and his keys aren’t where they should be. “ _Fuck_.”

“You alright?” Michael calls from the living room. “Another egg roll incident?”

“No I can’t—I lost my keys. I can’t fucking _believe_ this,” Miles says, rubbing at his eyes for a moment. Jesus Christ, Miles. Get your goddamn life together for _once_. He strides back into the living room. Michael is standing next to his coffee table staring down at the piles of boxes and food still sitting there. Oh yeah, shit. Michael raises one eyebrow and Miles glares at him. “Don’t judge me. I had a rough day and I’m a human disaster on a _good_ day.”

Michael throws his head back and laughs and Miles watches him, mesmerized.

Michael finishes laughing and smiles fondly at Miles. “Go find your keys, asshole,” he says as he starts gathering up the cartons of food.

“You don’t—“

Michael gives him a pointed look as he strides past to the kitchen. He starts consolidating foods into fewer containers and setting them in the fridge. “Keys. Now.” Miles runs off to his bedroom, throwing clothes off the bed and back into the closet haphazardly.

“You know,” Michael calls from the kitchen, “if you can’t find your keys, I can always just pick the lock to let you back in when we get back.”

Miles leans out of the bedroom door to stare at him. “Michael, no.” Michael shrugs and goes back to putting away the food. He kicks the door shut and Miles does his best _not_ to think about how domestic this feels. He ducks back into the bedroom and picks up his suit jacket from the floor. He shakes it and hears the telltale jingle. He makes a triumphant noise just as Michael appears in the doorway. “Found ‘em!” he says happily, raising his keys into the air but he freezes when he looks at Michael.

Michael is staring at him. His hands are in the front pockets of his jeans and his head is tilted to the side while his eyes roam Miles’ body. Miles swallows as he watches Michael’s tongue dart out and wet his lower lip. Michael is looking at him like he wants to take Miles apart and _god_ , Miles would _not_ be opposed. He realizes he’s still holding his keys aloft and he lets his arm drop to his side. Michael’s eyes finally meet his and there’s a light there that Miles can’t, in good conscience, ignore.

“Fuck it,” he says, dropping his keys to the floor. He’s on Michael in an instant, pressing him back out into the hall and up against the wall. Kissing Michael is like the first sip of whiskey, the way the warmth slides through his body and settles in his chest. He’s got his hands on Michael’s hips and Michael is gripping the front of his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping him upright.

“Jesus, Miles,” Michael gasps when they break apart. Miles goes to work immediately on Michael’s neck, and Michael shifts his hips and grinds against Miles’ thigh. “Fuck, I knew this would be awesome. Oh _Christ_.”

Miles grins, his lips still pressed against Michael’s neck. “You think about it a lot, Michael?” He slips his hand underneath the front of Michael’s shirt, rest flat against his stomach and Michael groans.

“Your fucking hands,” he says. “I’ve been thinking about your goddamn hands since you put them on my damn thighs.” Miles bites gently at Michael’s neck and his hips jump but Miles’ hand pins him in place. Michael sighs, “God _damn_ , dude.” He pulls at Miles’ hair, brings him away from his skin to crash their lips together again. It’s Miles who makes a noise in the back his throat when Michael grabs his ass, pulls him flush against his body so that Miles has to move his hands. He ends up with them on the wall, bracketing Michael’s head, ducking his own to kiss him deeply.

“You still wanna go for drinks?” Miles asks, breathing hard. Michael, resting his forehead on Miles’ chest, laughs.

“If you stop kissing me, Luna, I’ll kill you myself,” he says shrugging off his jacket. It falls to the floor and his hands are under Miles’ shirt, pushing it off his shoulders. Miles finds it _really_ hard to argue with that. He pulls back, brings Michael with him, walking backwards into the bedroom, glad that he’d picked up some of the mess. Michael surges up to kiss him again and Miles’ steps falter. He’s finding it hard to concentrate on anything but the wet slide of Michael’s mouth against his own.

Thankfully he’s a police officer so he doesn’t have enough money to have that big of an apartment and they’re blessedly at the bed in no time. He spins them, easing Michael backward and lowering him carefully. God, they’re still kissing and Miles thinks he would _gladly_ suffer oxygen deprival if it keeps the warmth of Michael beneath him.

They do break apart though, and Miles takes the opportunity to urge Michael farther up the bed until his head is resting just below the pillows. He crawls on, and Michael spreads his legs. Miles bites his bottom lip and rests his hands on Michael’s thighs, squeezing gently. Michael stares up at him, face flushed. He reaches down, palms at himself and Miles’ mouth waters. “Don’t—” he says, voice quiet.

Michael sneers. “What’re you going to do about it, Detective?”

“Michael,” Miles says. He takes both Michael’s hands roughly in his and stretches his arms over his head as he leans over. Michael strains against him, chest heaving. “God, you look so good,” he says. Miles is dizzy with this. With having Michael stretched out under him, pinned and open. “What do you want, Michael?”

Michael groans. “Fuck me, blow me, just do _something_ ,” he growls and, okay...Miles can work with that. He uses his free hand to ruck up Michael’s shirt to his armpits and then fits it against his ribs.

“If I let go of your hands, you gonna keep ‘em there?” Miles asks and _Jesus_ is that his fucking voice? It’s rough and a little dark sounding. Michael stares up at him, eyes wide.

“Y-Yeah,” he stutters. “I can do that.”

Miles grins, a little bit wolfish. “Good.” He releases Michael’s hands and they do stay pressed into the pillows. “Perfect.” He kisses Michael then, a little more teeth than before and Miles could really get used to the way Michael grinds his hips upward when he bites at his lips. Miles moves lower, pushes Michael’s shirt higher until it’s over his head and tangled in his hands.

“ _Miles_ ,” Michael breathes out. Miles looks up at him from where he’s hovering over his chest.

“Tell me what you like, Michael,” Miles hears himself saying. It’s not a request or a question. There’s something commanding in his tone and Michael shudders. He lifts his head to lock eyes with Miles. His lips are swollen and his cheeks pink.

“I like—I like your hands. I like when—god, they feel really good on me, Miles,” Michael says. “I like when—” Miles runs the palm of his hand over Michael’s nipple and he jumps, his head falling back to the sheets. “I like that. That feels really—” Miles does it again and Michael sighs. “Feels really good, Miles.”

“Good to know,” Miles says. He leans over, exhales over Michael’s other nipple and Michael’s head snaps back up.

“Miles—” is all he has a chance to say before Miles presses his mouth to Michael’s chest, the flat of his tongue moving over the peak. “ _Fuck_ ,” Michael grunts. “Fuck, fuck, Miles.”

“Michael, can I mark you?” Miles asks, mostly to be considerate but also a little bit because he thinks Michael might be into the way he talks. Michael nods quickly and Miles grins, dropping his mouth back to Michael’s chest. Michael’s body twitches when he scrapes his teeth lightly against the skin around his nipple. His hand is still gently working the other, circling, pressing, pinching just enough to make Michael groan.

“Miles, come on man. _Please_ ,” Michael says.

“Please what?” Miles mumbles against Michael’s skin. He sucks a small mark right on Michael’s pec and Michael’s hips jerk up, pressing his hardness against Miles’ stomach.

“Can I move my hands,” Michael asks, his voice soft. “I wanna touch you.”

“Yeah,” Miles says and Michael’s got a hand in his hair before he even gets the whole word out. He pulls lightly, guiding Miles in for a kiss and Miles gasps into his mouth. “God, Michael.” Michael’s hands slide over Miles’ back, pulling up his shirt, one dips beneath the top of his jeans. “Pants tight enough, Miles?” Michael asks, eyes shining.

“I have it on good authority that my ass looks spectacular in these jeans,” Miles laughs. He dips to suck a bruise just below Michael’s jaw.

Michael’s hand grips his ass, and Miles bucks forward, groaning. “God damn, Miles,” Michael spits out. “It does but it would look better with no jeans.”

“What a shitty line, Jones. I expected better from you,” Miles teases.

“It’s really hard for me to—fuck, to focus when you’re touching me,” Michael says. “Why are we still dressed? What the fuck.”

Miles laugh catches him off guard but he hoists himself up to his knees to strip his shirt over his head. Michael’s sit up and gets his hands on Miles’ hips, stares at him while his fingers grip tight. Miles blushes because Michael’s gaze is a little too focused, a little intense. “I used to be in better shape, you know when I was a beat cop,” he says. “The cushy detective job is—”

“Shut up, Miles,” Michael says. He wraps a hand behind Miles’ head and pulls him in for another kiss that makes Miles’ head spin. Michael grins against his lips, whispers, “Take your goddamn pants off, Luna. I wanna suck your dick.”

Miles swallows thickly. “Yeah, o-okay. Yeah. I can do that.” He hops off the bed, struggles to kick off his shoes, and peels his pants down his legs. He can hear the jingle of Michael’s belt as he undoes it and the thud of his pants hitting the floor. Miles contemplates leaving his briefs but he hears Michael clear his throat behind him and he turns. Michael is totally naked, spread out on the bed like some sort of fucking gift and Miles thinks maybe that’s exactly what he is. “Jesus _fuck_. You’re so fucking hot,” he says and Michael laughs.

“Take off your fucking underwear, Miles.” Michael gets himself upright and knee walks to the edge of the bed, his hands reaching for Miles. Miles strips off his underwear and goes into Michael’s arms without a second thought. He gets his hands on Michael’s face, thumbs pressing on his jaw as he angles Michael’s head back to kiss him. Michael sighs, his hands back to Miles’ hips. Miles pushes him back, crawls onto the bed in the space between Michael’s legs.

“As much as I want you to suck my dick, Michael,” Miles says, “I have so many other plans to get to first.”

Michael grins at him. “Like what?”

“First and foremost, I want to spend some quality time with your fucking thighs,” Miles explains, sounding more like he’s making a grocery list than detailing what he wants to do with Michael which Michael seems weirdly into. “You said you’d been thinking about my hands after that first night? I’ve been thinking about your thighs. I wanna mark ‘em up so badly. Are they sensitive?” Michael groans and nods and Miles feels a rush of pleasure at that. “Awesome. So fucking awesome.”

“Wh—what else are you going to do, Miles?” Michael asks, fingers gripping Miles’ forearms.

“I’ve got a lot of ideas, honestly. Can I ask you something?” A nod. “Has anyone ever eaten you out, Michael?”

Michael shivers, blushes pink in a way that Miles really, really likes. “N-no. I’ve done it—I mean I’ve participated but no one’s ever...returned the favor.”

“We’re gonna have _so_ much fun, Michael.” Miles sighs, grinning. His face falls serious, just for a moment. “Before we do, though, I wanna make sure—I like to be a little... _bossy_ in bed. Is that okay? I understand if you don’t—”

“No!” Michael says quickly. “No, that’s fine. I—I like that. I mean, I’d be okay with it.” He smiles sheepishly at Miles.

“You’re fuckin’ cute, you know that?” Miles pinches at Michael’s pink cheek.

Michael scoffs, bats at Miles’ hand. “Fuck off, dude. I’m not cute, I’m sexy as fuck.”

“I’m gonna say both, actually,” Miles says. “Now hold still. I’m about to rock your world.”

“You fuckin’ nerd,” Michael laughs but it drops off into a moan when Miles gets his mouth on Michael’s inner thigh. Miles keeps his hands on Michael’s hips, pinning him to the bed, but he works his mouth over Michael’s sensitive skin. He sucks a bruise, nips at the skin until Michael is whining and then kisses over the heated spot, soothing with his lips and his tongue. He does this over and over, continuously moving until Michael is saying “Miles, Miles, _please_. I can’t—I need—” and he pulls back to admire his work. Michael’s thighs are covered in red marks, the oldest already turning to purpling bruises. He presses his thumb into one and Michael’s hips jump from the bed.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” he says. “Look so good.”

Michael’s chest is heaving. “God damnit, Luna. I’m not gonna be able to walk right tomorrow. My legs look like a fucking crime scene.”

Miles grins, a little bit unkind. “Guess you’ll be thinking of me all day when you’re still sensitive and sore.”

“I hate you,” Michael says, throwing his arm over his eyes.

“Don’t be that way, Michael. We’re just getting started,” Miles says, voice dropping in a way that makes Michael swallow thickly. Miles digs his fingers into Michael’s thighs and pulls him closer before urging him to flip over. Michael moves quickly, gasping when Miles pulls him up to his knees, ass in the air.

“Shit,” Michael breathes. “Fuck, Miles—”

“We’re on step two now, Michael,” Miles says. Miles may be a human disaster in the real world, but he’s got his shit together when it comes to fucking. “You still good?”

“Put your goddamn mouth on me, Luna.”

“Guess I’m not the only one with a bossy streak,” Miles hums. He runs his hand up Michael’s spine to the middle of his back, just between his shoulder blades and then he pushes, forcing Michael’s chest down to the sheets. “Stay like that, Michael,” and Miles feels a fucking _rush_ because Michael _does_. He leans over then, body flush where it presses along Michael’s and grabs the lube and a condom from his bedside table.

“What’s the step after this one?” Michael asks. Miles considers as he spreads Michael’s cheeks apart. Blows out a breath that’s mostly for show and mostly just to hear the desperate noise Michael makes. “Miles, you fucking—”

“I think next is when I fuck you, Michael,” Miles says carefully. “Would you like that? Step two; eat you out until you’re begging for me to fuck you and then Step 3, I actually do?” Miles presses his dry thumb against Michael’s hole. Michael’s body tenses.

“Yeah,” Michael mumbles into the pillow. “Yeah, want you to fuck me.”

Miles doesn’t give any other warning after that, just spreads Michael further and licks over his hole. Michael’s whole body jolts and he pushes back almost immediately. Miles laughs darkly and palms at Michael’s ass with rough hands. “Eager,” he says and Michael whimpers. “You sure you’ve never done this?”

“No, not ever,” Michael says, panting. “Fuck, if I’d—if I knew it was—”

“It feels so good,” Miles agrees.

“I knew the second I saw you that you’d have a good mouth, Jesus,” Michael groans. Miles goes back for another pass and another, getting Michael’s hole wet with it. Fucking sloppy and wet and Michael’s actively pushing back now, over and over. “I don’t know how long we can do this,” Michael whines. “I’m gonna fucking come just from this. I want you to be fucking me when I come.” Miles moans against Michael’s skin and has to reach down to squeeze the base of his dick. “Miles seriously, I’m really—Jesus, I’m really fucking close.” Miles pulls back then but reconsiders to bite at Michael’s ass, leaves another mark that he thumbs at when he’s done. “You’re a fucking menace,” Michael breathes.

“Actually I think that’s _your_ side,” Miles says laughing. “Turn over, baby.” And _whoops_ , ‘baby’ is not something you call a guy you barely know and especially not one you know can kill you in 8 different ways. Michael’s ears pink at the name but he doesn’t say anything. In fact it looks kind of like he preens the endearment. Huh.

Michael glares at him when he gets onto his back, still breathing harshly. “Well I’m reporting you to your supervisors,” he says while he mimes talking on a telephone. “Hello? Yes is this the head...police guy? Yeah, Detective Luna is a fucking menace to society. His mouth is against the law.”

“You’re an idiot,” Miles says, a little too fond, the smile on his face a little too soft. Get your shit together Luna, _Christ_.

“Yeah well you’re the idiot that wants to bang _this_ idiot so—you know what shut up,” Michael says pointing a finger in Miles’ face. “Don’t laugh at me, I just got rimmed for the first time and it was like seeing a goddamned miracle in real life. If I’m an idiot it’s because you made me this way.”

“We’re just getting started,” Miles says, the dark edge of his voice back. Michael grins up at him even as his face flushes. Miles gets his elbow under one of Michael’s legs and lifts, holding him open and Michael shifts his hips in a way that makes Miles want to go back to rimming him. Instead, he pops the cap on the lube and slicks his fingers. “You finger yourself often, Michael?” Michael nods and Miles bites down on his exposed thigh.

“Fuck, what the _fuck_?” Michael yelps.

“When I ask you a question,” Miles says. “I want you to actually answer me. You got it?”

Miles watches Michael’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. “Yeah, I got it.”

“Good,” Miles says. He brushes his slick fingers along the cleft of Michael’s ass and his leg twitches. “So sensitive, Michael. Are you always like this?”

“Yes,” Michael says through gritted teeth. He wiggles, trying to get Miles to touch him again so Miles does. He rubs his fingers across Michael’s skin and the sound that spews from Michael’s mouth is like _music_.

“I could listen to you all fucking day,” Miles says. He slips a finger in and Michael’s breath hiccups. “I could finger you open for hours just to hear those sounds.”

“No,” Michael says. “Please I want—”

“I know what you want,” Miles mutters. Michael’s mouth snaps shut. “I know what you _need_ , Michael.”

“Yes,” Michael says, drawing out the word when Miles adds a second finger. “God, Miles. Feels good.” He reaches down and strokes himself, a slow slide that has Miles wishing he could blow Michael. They’ve got all night, he thinks. Plenty of time.

Miles laughs lightly, presses a kiss to Michael’s inner knee. “That’s good, baby. Want you to feel good. Tell me when I can—”

“More,” Michael spits out. “More now—I mean you can.”

“So good, Michael. I’ll give it to you.” Miles grins, presses his lips to Michael’s leg again while he works him open. They stay like that for countless minutes, Miles living for the way Michael’s sounds get breathy and his body starts to shake. When he curls his fingers just so, Michael’s hand shoots out to grab at his arm, fingernails leaving little crescent marks that Miles wishes would last until morning.

“ _Miles_ , fuck me,” Michael says, digging his nails in. It’s not a request any more than when Miles asked Michael what he liked. It should sound like begging but it doesn’t. It comes out harsh, rough with the way Michael’s voice already sounds fucked out even though neither of them have come. Miles likes the way his name sounds on Michael’s lips.

“Okay, baby,” Miles says, placating. He doesn’t miss the way Michael squirms when he uses the pet name. “I’m gonna fuck you, but I’m telling you now that my dick is bigger than what 3 fingers will give you.”

“Good,” Michael groans. “I wanna feel you.”

Miles bites his lip and stares down at Michael where he’s spread open and his chest is heaving. He takes in the bruises littering Michael’s skin and the way his hair is blown out and messy from the way he pulled at it when Miles was stretching him open. “Look fuckin’ good, baby. Look all fucked out and ready for me.”

“ _Please_ , Miles. Don’t—I don’t like being teased,” Michael says, reaching for Miles. He pulls him down, kisses him hot and messy in all the way that Miles loves.

“Not teasing,” Miles murmurs when they part. “You look fucking hot. I can’t wait to fuck you.”

“What the fuck are you waiting for then,” Michael demands and Miles laughs.

“You’re very distracting. We’ve established this already,” he says, pressing his lips to Michael’s forehead. He ignores the way Michael’s ears go pink at the innocent affection. He ignores the way his own stomach twists at it too. “How do you wanna do this?” he asks.

“I—I don’t—I like it like this,” Michael says. “I want to see you.” His eyes are alight and so _focused_ on Miles.

Miles feels his skin prickle at that, just like every time Michael’s laser focus has been on him. “Okay Michael. That’s good. I want to see you too.” He settles back on his heels, reaches for the condom and the lube. Michael sits up then, takes them carefully from his hands. “Michael…” Michael strokes him, slow the same way he was to himself earlier. Miles feels sparks shoot through him at being touched after ignoring it for so long to open Michael up. “Ffffuuuck, _Michael_.” He pulls at his own hair with his clean hand.

“I’ve been waiting to get my hands on your dick, Miles,” Michael says. “Fuck you’re big, huh? I can’t wait ‘till you’re fucking me.” The lecherous tone in his voice is doing _things_ to Miles.

“You keep that up and you’re not gonna have the chance because I’m gonna fucking _come_.” Miles grabs at Michael’s wrist, lube still shining on his fingers from before, feels the bones shift under his tight grasp. Michael grins at him, something sharp and twisted that makes Miles shiver, the shift between whimpering, begging Michael and this one that looks like he’s going to eat Miles alive _too much_. Michael takes pity though, or just really wants to be fucked, because he rolls on the condom efficiently and slicks Miles quickly.

He presses forward for a kiss that leaves Miles reeling and then just as suddenly, is gone, laying back against the bed. “You’re going to fucking kill me,” Miles chides, still a little bit breathless.

“Nah, your mouth is too pretty to waste,” Michael says. “Now are you gonna—”

Miles shuts him up, gripping him behind his knees and pulling him across the bed to him. “Shut up, Jones.” He grips himself and starts to push in, watching Michael’s face. He forces himself to move slowly despite the fact that Michael is hot and tight and _god_ , Miles might actually fucking die from this. He pulls back a little, pushes in deeper and Michael eyes slam shut and he _whines_. “You good? I can—”

Michael glares at him. “Don’t fucking stop, Luna. I swear to fucking god if you stop—”

“ _Fine_ ,” Miles says and he pulls back, almost all the way to thrust back in even deeper this time. He’s going to come just from the fucking noises Michael is making.

“K-Keep going, _fuck_ ,” Michael pants. “Jesus, you feel—it feels so good, Miles.” He bears down, tightens around Miles as he thrusts back in and Miles sees fucking _stars_.

“Michael, Michael—Can I, fuck, can I fuck you?” Miles groans.

Michael looks lost in it but he reaches for Miles and Miles _goes_. He leans over, lets Michael get a hand in his hair and tug and it makes his hips stutter forward and he’s bottoming out. “Yeah, fuck me. Show me what you can fucking do, _Detective_.”

Miles growls, kisses Michael in a way that is mostly teeth. He pushes himself back up to his knees and gets his hands under Michael’s legs. “You’re going to regret that, baby,” he says and Michael shudders. He lifts Michael just enough that the angle is right so he can pull almost all the way out and _snap_ his hips forward. The smack of his hips against Michael’s ass is fucking _obscene_ in the quiet of the room and it’s joined by the sounds Michael starts to make. Little punched out whines and moans and grunts.

Michael’s skin is slick with sweat and Miles adjusts his grip in a way that moves Michael’s body and suddenly Michael goes taut and he cries out. “Fuck, Miles. D-Do that again—” he begs. “Please, I’m fucking close.” Miles readjusts again, aiming for the same spot he’d just hit and Michael’s hand flies to his dick, stroking himself fast and hard.

“You gonna come, baby?” Miles asks, feels his own orgasm building. “You gonna come all over yourself?” Michael moans, nods his head. “So good, Michael. Come on, baby. I want to feel you come.”

Michael’s back arches off the bed, his thighs shaking under Miles’ hands as he comes across his stomach and on his hand. Miles’ hips stutter for a moment, the tight grip of Michael’s body almost too much but he keeps moving, fucking Michael through his orgasm. “Miles,” Michael groans. “Come on me, Miles.”

Miles chokes. “You want me to come on your thighs, Michael?” He levers his hips forward, slamming into Michael. Michael’s cock twitches against his stomach.

“Yeah, Miles, my thighs and my stomach,” Michael begs.

“Fucking dirty,” Miles grunts. He pulls free, ripping the condom off. “Gonna mark you up with my come just like I did with my mouth.” He strips his cock, fast and sure, already so fucking close. He digs his fingers into one of the bruises on Michael’s thighs as he comes and Michael cries out.

“Jesus fucking _Christ_ ,” Michael pants as Miles lets go of his legs and collapses over him, arms on either side of his head holding him up and away from the mess. Miles dips his head to kiss Michael, relaxed and unhurried. Michael gets his hand to the back of Miles’ neck when he tries to pull away, dragging him back for another and Miles laughs.

“I gotta get something to clean us up,” he says when he tries to pull away again and Michael makes a noise of protest.

“Just stay, Miles. I’m needy after I come.” Michael twists his fingers in the hair at the back of Miles’ head. “Besides, give me like 15 minutes and we can just take a shower and get dirty _while_ we get clean,” he says with a grin.

Miles groans. “You’re insatiable. You’re actually trying to kill me right? Is this some clever ruse to take out LSPD’s best looking detective?”

Michael rolls his eyes. “You’ve found me out. Oh no,” he says, deadpan. His eyes light up. “Unless that means you’re going to handcuff me, which, in that case that’s _totally_ what’s happening.”

Miles ducks his head, lips against Michael’s ear. “I can definitely provide handcuffs,” he says, dropping his voice just enough to watch Michael shiver. He pulls back to see the shocked look on Michael’s face and laughs.

Michael glares at him and Miles makes it his new mission to kiss the sour look from his face.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come visit me on tumblr!!! @scrob-lord


	4. The Luna Problem (aka Lindsay is Tired of Michael's shit)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is having a crisis. About Miles' dick.

Michael leaves before Miles wakes up the next day. Before they fell asleep, Miles had promised pancakes and fresh orange juice and Michael’s chest felt tight. So he runs away like a goddamn coward because that’s what he fucking is. Fuck.

See the problem is, sex with Miles? Probably the best sex he’s ever had in his life. He’s sore and his muscles ache and his thighs—he’s half fucking hard in his jeans from the way they rub against the sensitive skin and when he gets home and looks at himself in the mirror? Forget it.

He looks… _wrecked_. He’s covered in bruises and god, there are scratches on his upper arms from when they went the next round and Miles was breathing out Michael’s name like it was a prayer while Michael fucked him. He’s going to have to wear long sleeves for a fucking week. Michael presses into a bruise at the base of his throat and thumbs at one on his chest, groans at the way they ache and remind him of Miles’ mouth. Miles did a fucking number on him.

He’s not proud of the way he jerks off in the shower just thinking about it.

It was supposed to be a one-off thing, a one-night stand, an opportunity to fuck a cop just to knock it off his bucket list. But now that he’s actually had it? Had Miles’ mouth on him and felt the heat of Miles’ body against his? He doesn’t know if he can go on living never having that again. He’s having a _goddamn_ existential crisis over this guy’s dick.

He wants to see Miles again and that was _never_ the fucking plan.

Look, Michael has no grand ideas about how he, the fuck-up criminal who _kills_ people and _steals_ shit, could possibly be on the same level as someone who’s job it is to protect the damn city. He knows this isn’t a chick flick where Miles will see the good in him and be totally cool with what he does or where Michael will be cured of his sinful, murdering ways just so he can be with the pure-hearted police officer.

Michael is a bad guy. Miles is a good guy.

Miles is like, a _really_ good guy. He got a medal for _literally going into a burning building to save a grandmother_. What the _fuck_.

Michael is logical and practical and he _knows_ that Miles is too good for him. What would Miles want with someone like Michael in the first place? Michael knows he’s pretty good-looking, but besides that? They have nothing in common and its literally Miles’ job to _arrest_ Michael. Miles said he didn’t fuck criminals—which was _kind of_ a lie, clearly—but he certainly wouldn’t want to get _involved_ with someone like Michael. This isn’t fucking _Grease_. He’s not John Travolta and Miles isn’t…the chick from _Grease_. The thing is, all of his logic and all of his practicality unfortunately doesn’t fucking stop Michael from wanting _more_.

He wants to tell Gavin or Jeremy about this. Not that he thinks either will give him good advice but he’s a dude and he just had the most mind blowing sex of his life and he’s gotta tell _someone_.

He lasts all of two days before he cracks.

He and Jeremy have pulled observation duty on Larkin this time, followed the bastard to a brothel on the outskirts of the city. “He’s been in for about 10 minutes,” Jeremy says. “Whattya think, like 5 more tops?”

Michael snorts. “I mean, it depends on whether or not he swallowed back one of those little blue pills.”

“You think he’s one of those?” Jeremy asks. Michael raises his eyebrows and looks at the giant truck Larkin took to the house. Jeremy laughs. “Fair point.”

“It’s either that or he’s got a _tiny_ dick,” Michael says. “I almost feel back for him.” He subconsciously reaches for one of the dark marks on his neck. Goddamnit, even _talking_ about dicks has him thinking about Miles. Jeremy sighs suddenly and Michael turns to look at him. “What.”

It’s Jeremy’s turn to shoot him a withering look. “Are you going to explain the hickies or…”

“Jeremy—“ Jesus _fuck_ , is he blushing?

“I mean you don’t _have_ to but damn dude. Like, did you fuck a vampire?” Jeremy asks and Michael laughs, the tension leaving him almost as fast as it came.

“No vampires,” he says. “But—“ Jeremy, the bastard _leans forward_. “I did, as you may have gathered, share an amorous night with someone.”

Jeremy grins. “Gavin and I were trying to figure out if you did or if you got into a fight with a vacuum cleaner.”

Michael punches Jeremy in the arm. “You guys should worry less about who _I’m_ fucking and get to fucking each other.” Jeremy’s face pinks and Michael laughs in his face. “Really? You too?”

“What!”

“You and Gavin are fucking ridiculous, you know that?” Michael says. “Like, you both clearly are super into each other. I see it, Geoff sees it, Jack and Ryan are taking bets I think? The fucking _doorman_ asked me if you guys were banging yet.”

“Fuck you, he did not!” Jeremy squeaks.

“He fucking did!”

“It’s not—We’re not—“

“Okay,” Michael says, holding up a hand. “It’s okay, Lil J. I’m not trying to… _pressure_ you. I just—I don’t know man, since you joined the crew? Gavin is _different_ ,” Michael explains.

Jeremy narrows his eyes. “Different? Different how?”

Michael sighs, presses the palms of his hands into his eyes under his glasses and rubs. “I don’t really know how to explain it?” He pulls his hands away and looks at Jeremy. “I mean, he’s always been _silly_ but with you it’s like a more tame version. And he’s a little _softer_ , around the edges, you know?”

“I don’t—“

“I’m not saying that you’re fucking life-changing or anything,” Michael warns, pointer finger swiveling in Jeremy’s direction. “I’m just saying that Gavin is my best friend and…the way he looks at you is something I’ve never seen before.”

They sit in silence for a long while, Michael staring out the window to give Jeremy time to process. Eventually, Jeremy clears his throat. “So…”

“So?”

“The bruises.” Jeremy raises his eyebrows and watches Michael expectantly.

“Fuck.” Michael rubs at his eyes again. He’s been doing it a lot lately. “So I met this guy right? At, uh, a bar.” He doesn’t particularly _like_ lying to Jeremy, but he’s so not ready to admit that he fucked the hot cop they were talking about. “And like, I’ve—it was the best sex I’ve ever had in my _life_.”

Jeremy laughs. “You say that every time you fuck someone.”

Michael shakes his head. “No, like, I’m serious. Without subjecting you to the details, this guy…like, his dick is fucking life changing. I think I saw the afterlife when he rimmed me.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Jeremy says laughing, the leftovers of his accent sneaking through. “I didn’t need to know that.”

“Look, you fucking asked about the bruises so you have to listen to me wax poetic about the sex,” Michael says, grinning.

“If it was the best sex you’ve ever had, how come you’re so mopey lately?” Jeremy asks. “You should be on cloud nine still.”

Michael hesitates; plays with the string of the hoodie he wore to hide his arms. “Well, it was supposed to be a one-night stand thing. Like, a ‘fuck ‘em and run’ sort of deal.”

“Okay? And?” Jeremy asks.

“I can’t stop thinking about him!” Michael says, voice rising. “Well about his dick,” he goes on, the words rushing out and sounding super unconvincing even to his own ears. Sure, he wants to fuck Miles again, but he also can’t stop thinking about his stupid jokes and his fucking offer to make goddamn pancakes. Miles is too _good_.

“I’ll repeat myself…and?”

“I don’t want to get attached to him—I mean, his dick!” Michael corrects. “He’s not in the crew life and—“

Jeremy holds up a hand and Michael’s mouth snaps shut. “So you’re like, feeling shitty because you want to bang this dude again even though he’s a civilian?”

“Sort of,” Michael says. His face is burning but at least Jeremy doesn’t know that the ‘sort of’ part is referring to Miles being a ‘civilian’.

Jeremy eyes him carefully; too observant for his own good, which was part of the reason Geoff hired him when Ray fucked off to do his own thing. “If he’s as good as you say, I think you should just follow your dick dreams, dude.”

“My _what_?” Michael asks.

“Your dick dreams. Your dream dick,” Jeremy says like it’s not the weirdest fucking thing Michael has heard all week. “The dick of your dreams. Follow it.”

“You’re fucking weird,” Michael says but he’s grinning like and idiot and Jeremy just grins back stupidly too. The more Michael thinks about it though, the more he thinks that maybe seeing Miles _one_ more time might be okay. Maybe take him out for drinks for real—there was a part of him that was _hoping_ things went the way they did last time, he had never _planned_ to leave that apartment once he got there. (He told Miles that in the afterglow of round two and Miles had _laughed_.)

The car is silent after that; both of them thinking about their own separate revelations. Michael can tell Jeremy is thinking about the whole thing with Gavin with the way he keeps reaching for his phone and then pulling his hand back. Michael’s honestly in no better shape. He types out approximately one million texts to Miles and deletes every single one of them. They both audibly sigh when Larkin reappears, smug grin on his face, and climbs into his truck.

“Fucking finally,” Jeremy mutters.

“I think all the fucking is done, already,” Michael shoots back. Jeremy laughs and punches his arm. Larkin pulls from the parking lot and Michael follows after him. It’s time to go to work.

\----

Michael ends up calling Miles instead of texting him. Miles works crazy hours so Michael’s got like a 50-50 chance of catching him while he’s at the station no matter what time of day it actually is. He picks up on the second ring. “Go for Luna!” comes the _overly_ cheery voice, sounding more like a camp counselor than a police detective.

Michael snorts out a laugh before he can even say hello. Miles is _unbearably_ cute. “Hello, Miles.”

Michael hears the sound of papers fluttering and something falling over the line. Miles swears under his breath and then says, “Oh holy shit. Michael?”

“The one and only!”

“Jesus man, I was _not_ prepared for you to call me right now. Or, like, ever,” Miles says in a rush. Michael can hear people talking in the background and realizes that Miles, most definitely, is at work.

“What, can’t a guy check in on the other guy who has his tongue in his ass?” Michael asks because he _knows_ Miles will be flushing red and the thought of talking to him while he’s surrounded by other cops is kind of _hilarious_.

Miles groans and Michael can hear his quick footsteps while all the other voices fade out. “Michael, please. I don’t want to get hard in front of my coworkers.”

“Okay, alright. No more talking about how after I left your place I had to jerk off in the shower because of all the bruises you left on me,” Michael says, laughing.

“I hate you, Jones.”

“No you don’t,” Michael teases.

Miles’ reply is soft, unexpected. “No, I don’t.” Michael swallows, heartbeat picking up. Miles clears his throat like he didn’t mean to say it either. “So, what’s the reason for this call other than to tease me? What’s a leather jacket-wearing bad boy want with me? You left before _pancakes_ , man.” Michael can tell he’s pouting.

Michael hesitates, just for a moment. Why is this such a big deal? He can do this. He’s Michael _fucking_ Jones. “Well, honestly? I was wondering if you wanted to go get drinks tonight? Like, real drinks. I’ll even meet you at the place so there’s no way we’ll get distracted.”

Miles laughs and Michael can picture his head thrown back with it. Jesus, get a hold of yourself, Jones. “Okay, yeah. I get out at five. Where do you wanna meet?”

Michael gives him an address. It’s not the original bar, the one that Geoff owns, but one on more _neutral_ ground. Miles actually knows of the place, mentions that it’s where he met his ex and Michael feels a rush of jealousy out of nowhere. By the time they hang up, Michael is already starting to panic. He hits speed dial one immediately after he disconnects and lets out a sigh of relief when Lindsay picks up.

“Listen, can I come over? It’s an emergency,” he says before she even finishes saying ‘hello’.

“Like a crew emergency or like, ‘My life is a disaster and I need you to fix it, Lindsay’ emergency?” she says, immediately.

“The second one.”

She sighs. “Give me like 10 minutes so I can wrap up this meeting.”

“Linds, you’re a fucking lifesaver. I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah. You better bring me some fucking Starbucks, Jones.”

“Done.”

\----

Lindsay is Michael’s best friend in a different way than Gavin. Gavin and Michael call each other ‘Boi’ and fuck around and play videogames. If Michael tried to go to Gavin with the anxieties he was having right now, he’d be laughed out of the room before he even got the problem out of his mouth.

“So I have a date tonight and I’m like freaking out about it,” he rambles when she opens the door. Lindsay looks unimpressed. “Don’t look at me like that. You’re my friend you’re not supposed to judge me.”

“I’m not _judging_ , I’m being annoyed,” she says. “Michael you’re 27 years old. What the fuck are you freaking out for? And where’s my Starbucks?”

He holds out the cup with an apologetic grin. She hums happily and finally lets him into her apartment. “I don’t know why I’m freaking out. I mean, I’ve already fucked him,” he explains. “But I didn’t even plan on calling him again and now I have a date with him in like 6 hours.”

Lindsay raises an eyebrow while she sips from the drink. “What, was the dick too bomb to let him go?”

Michael groans. “Something like that.”

Lindsay’s eyes narrow. “Hold on a second,” she says. She grabs him by the chin and pushes his head back to get a look at the fading bruises on Michael’s neck. “What the fuck, dude.”

Michael flushes and shrugs. “Let’s just say, he left a pretty good impression.”

“You can say that again,” Lindsay laughs, letting go of his face. “I mean I still don’t really get why it’s such a big deal.”

“It’s…complicated.”

“Complicated? What are you, a Facebook status from 2009?” she asks. And this is why he loves Lindsay so much, because she doesn’t put up with his shit and she makes him laugh even while she kicks his ass.

“He’s not in the life,” he says carefully.

Lindsay’s eyes narrow, she knows he’s hiding something. “So? What’s wrong with dating a civvy? What aren’t you telling me, Jones,” she says, taking a step toward him. And that’s the other thing about Lindsay not letting him get away with stuff; it also fucking sucks sometimes.

“He’s not—“ Michael starts. He shifts nervously and she gasps.

“Michael Vincent Jones are you fucking a cop?” she demands. His eyes snap to her face and his mouth falls open.

“What—how did you—“

“Goddamnit, Michael,” Lindsay sighs, tired sounding. She’s his best friend but she’s also Geoff’s number two. The one who’s going to take over when he’s had enough of this life. Michael knows this is super unfair to her. “What the _fuck_ have you gotten yourself into?”

“I keep asking myself the same question,” he mumbles, looking away to the floor.

She tips his head up again, her face is soft. “Go sit on the couch. I’ll grab us some beers and you’re going to tell me everything.”

“You got it, boss,” Michael says and she smiles.

“Damn right.”

\----

So he spills his guts and Lindsay’s face ranges from annoyed to amused to more than a little impressed when he talks about the sex (unlike Jeremy, she is fully here for the dirty details). “You’re a damn idiot, you know that right?” she says when he finally finishes, two beers later.

“It’s a pretty well established fact,” he replies. She sets a hand on his knee and he grins at her. “I’m sorry, Linds. I shouldn’t have dumped this all on you.”

“You shouldn’t have banged the hot cop in the first place,” she says, chastising, and his smile falls away. Lindsay sighs. “We’ve all done stupid shit to get laid, Michael, but I think this might take the first place medal in the ‘I Fucked Up Big Time’ competition.”

Michael rubs his face with his hands. “I’m screwed aren’t I?”

“Little bit.” Lindsay picks up all the empty bottles and heads for the kitchen. He pushes himself to his feet and follows. “We can probably fix this,” she says. “You go see him tonight and you tell him ‘Thanks for the high quality orgasms but we can never do this again’. Capiche?” Michael sees immediately why Geoff is grooming her to take over when he’s gone. She’s got an air about her that demands obedience and loyalty without even trying.

He knows she’s right but something in Michael’s chest tightens and he swallows thickly but he nods anyway. “Yeah, I got it.”

“Good,” she says, and suddenly ‘boss mode’ is over and she’s just _Lindsay_ , his best friend that’s obsessed with cats and laughs when Michael and Gavin do stupid stuff together. “Look, I’m sorry buddy but it’s just the way it is,” she says, resting her hand on his shoulder. She draws him in for a hug and he buries his face in her neck.

“Thanks,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Lindsay murmurs. “I love you, dude. I’m always here for your boy drama.”

Michael huffs out a laugh. “Don’t call it ‘boy drama’. It makes it sound like I’m a fucking teenager.”

“Well stop acting like one then,” she teases. Michael pulls back, poking her in the side. “Hey!”

He grins at her. “Just acting like a teenager,” he says, sticking out his tongue.

The impending tickle fight is one for the fucking record books.

\-----

Michael gets to the bar a few minutes early and Miles is already there. He looks _good_. He obviously came right from work, his dress shirt sleeves rolled up to just above his elbows and his collar undone three buttons. Michael can see the fading mark he left at the base of Miles’ neck and it affects him more than it probably should. When he approaches the high-top table, Miles fucking _stands_ to meet him. Like a goddamn gentleman and Michael thinks this is going to be way harder than he originally anticipated.

They both settle into their seats, order drinks and then…sit in awkward silence.

“So,” Miles starts at the same time Michael says, “Okay—“

Miles laughs, rubbing the back of his neck and Michael grins. “You go first,” he says.

Miles fiddles with one of the coasters the waitress left on the table. “I actually had no idea what I was about to say, to be honest. I was bluffing.”

“Well, shit. So was I,” Michael laughs. “We’re a fine fucking pair aren’t we?”

“I mean, clearly I am just too good looking for you even to know what to say to me,” Miles says, the teasing lilt back to his voice. “Gotcha all tongue tied.” Michael grins.

“You _are_ rocking the rolled up sleeves again. That’s what got us into this mess in the first place,” he shoots back.

Miles looks down at his shirt. “The only reason I do this is to intimidate big bad criminals like you with my impressive forearms.”

He flexes as a joke but Michael watches closely and his damn treacherous body remembers those forearms on either side of his head as Miles was pressing him into the sheets. He blinks, brushes the memory away. “That backfired with me, didn’t it?” he says, hoping Miles’ didn’t catch the staring or the hesitation.

“I wouldn’t say _backfired_. Maybe just, _yielded different results_ ,” Miles says. The waitress comes over with their drinks. “Put them both on my tab,” he says even as Michael reaches for his wallet. He opens his mouth to complain but Miles shoots him a look so he snaps it shut. The waitress giggles and winks at Michael and he blushes.

When she leaves, he plays with the straw in his drink. “Different results?”

Miles takes a sip of his beer. “Did I say ‘different’? I totally meant to say ‘better’. _Better_ is definitely the right word. Maybe even ‘spectacular’,” he muses.

“You’re such a dork,” Michael chuckles.

They make more small talk, the waitress brings another round and Michael still hasn’t done what Lindsay told him to do. It’s hard because Miles is _good_ and sweet and funny but he’s also got a mouth on him that matches Michael perfectly in a way that puts Michael on some Grinch-level ‘HELP ME IM FEELING’ shit. It’s a problem.

He’s working himself up to having the conversation, really he is, when Miles’ phone starts going off. Miles frowns down at it where it vibrates on the table. “It’s the station,” he says, sounding confused. “I’ll be right back.” He picks up the phone with a terse “Luna” and brushes his hand along the back of Michael’s neck. It makes him shiver even as he leans into it.

Michael watches Miles head toward the bathrooms and he’s about to order anther drink when he feels _his_ phone go off in his pocket and his heart sinks. A detective’s phone going off at almost the same time as the one owned by member of the biggest crew in Los Santos? Probably _not_ a good sign. He picks up and when Jack tells him there’s an emergency crew meeting at the penthouse, his heart sinks even further. Her voice is calm but there’s an underlying tension that he can’t quite put his finger on. Fuck.

“I’ll be there as soon as possible,” he mutters and hangs up just as Miles comes back to the table.

He looks flustered and a little bit worried. “Hey, I am so sorry but I have to go back into work. There’s been some sort of emergency.” Michael laughs and it must come out sounding hollow and fake because Miles puts a hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”

Michael holds up his phone. “There are all kinds of emergencies tonight I guess,” he says. “I have to go to a cre—a meeting.” He smiles up at Miles but he knows it must look tired because Miles frowns.

“Michael—“

“What if our meetings are about the same thing?” Michael spits out, panic rising. “Fuck, Miles. We’re like on opposite sides. What happens if—“

Miles’ hand moves from his shoulder to his cheek, just resting warm against his skin. He leans in and presses a kiss to Michael’s lips suddenly and Michael melts into it. Fuck, he’s in _way_ too deep. “We’ll be fine,” Miles whispers. “I don’t—I want to see you again. Is that, is that okay? Do you—“

“Yeah,” Michael says. “I do. I want that.” He stands then, shoving his phone into his pocket. “I’ll—I’ll text you?”

“Okay, Michael. I’d like that,” Miles says. He presses another kiss to Michael’s forehead and Michael’s stomach flutters at the unexpected show of intimacy. Michael leaves first, hops into his car before Miles has even finished paying his tab. He knows that if he stayed any longer, he would have done something stupid, not that he hasn’t fucking done that already.

\----

“Where the fuck have you been?” Geoff asks as he rushes into the meeting room.

Michael scowls at him. "I was across town, Jesus. I got here as fast as I could.” He’s a little out of breath and a little bit flushed and he notices Jeremy shooting him a strange look. Observant little fuck.

“Larkin went after the Fakehaus guys today,” Geoff says and suddenly Michael doesn’t give a shit about Jeremy looking at him.

“ _What_?”

Ryan’s eyes are wide and he clenches his fists. “Are they okay?”

Jack leans her hip against the table. “They all got out of their base before the LSPD raided it. Barely,” she says.

“What the bloody hell happened?” Gavin asks.

“He pinned a gun running ring on them when he found out an undercover cop was working it. The cop died and when the police went after the ring, four other SWAT guys got got,” Geoff says. He sounds so fucking tired and Michael feels guilt settle in his gut. It makes him feel like he’s gonna hurl.

Lindsay steps in. “The important thing is that Fakehaus is okay. Bruce fucked up his ankle jumping from the window to get out but besides that, everyone is fine.” Geoff looks over at her, grateful that she took over.

“So what now?” Jeremy asks. They all turn to her and she glances at Geoff.

Geoff sighs. “We gotta be careful. Like, more than usual,” he says. “Keep stuff close to the chest. Don’t fuck around with anyone you don’t trust.” Lindsay’s eyes flick to Michael and he looks at the floor. “I know it’s hard for you assholes, but be fucking smart.”

“You got it, boss,” Ryan says. Jeremy, Jack, and Gavin all nod. Michael’s palms are sweating but he grunts out an affirmative.

Lindsay crosses her arms over her chest and locks eyes with Geoff who nods. She claps her hands and says, “Alright, guys. We’ve got a lot of work to do with this Larkin bastard and I’m sure the LSPD is going to be watching us pretty closely. Lets get to it.”

Michael’s life just got a _hell_ of a lot more complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey y'all!!!!!!!
> 
> Thanks for reading! The plots really starting to kick off a little bit! Hope you're all ready!!
> 
> Find me on tumblr @scrob-lord!


	5. Kyle Taylor is the Worst Best Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MORE PLOT! 
> 
> Miles and Michael sext each other while everything else in their world seems like it's crumbling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all I am the worst. But I'm back in it! I promise! I had some Lunael prompts on tumblr and I went spiraling back to Lunael Hell so YEAH!

So, yeah, Miles is probably in _way_ over his head. That’s the thing about fucking and catching feelings for one of the members of the most wanted crew in Los Santos. See, the LSPD is buckling down on the gang activity in the wake of the most recent run in with the Fakehaus crew and that means even more eyes on the Fake AH guys and subsequently Michael. Who Miles has a huge dumb crush on.

The whole situation is pretty fucked.

On top of that? He’s got this weird feeling that something isn’t fucking right about this whole thing. Not the him and Michael thing, but the Fakehaus thing. He’s lived in Los Santos all his life. Even being a _new_ detective, he’s been on the streets and out in the world as a cop for a pretty long time. He knows the Fakehaus guys. He arrested Bruce Greene more than once for starting fights in the street, gotten a black eye from Elyse Willems and her baseball bat when he showed up to a convenience store robbery, and he even accidentally shared a drink with Matt Peake before he even knew who he was.

Gunrunning? Not really their _style_. They’re more about robberies and general chaos, which is what got them on Fake AH’s radar in the first place and how they formed their partnership.

A lot of the older cops retired the day _that_ news came through.

Miles isn’t a gang expert. He thought about joining the Anti-Gang unit when he joined up with the department, but he also knew that it was the place with the most crooked cops and that is _dangerous_ on a whole other level. Dealing with criminals is easy. It makes sense. Miles is terrified of getting on the bad side of a cop on someone’s payroll because, in his experience, they’re more ruthless and treacherous than any criminal he’s come up against. They’ve not only got their job on the line, but their reputation. Dirty cops will do anything to stay in their place of power. The guy running this case on the FH guys? He’s a well-known detective who’s been in the force for a long time. He’s also as dirty as they fucking come. Miles isn’t even sure _who_ Marquette works for, but he’s not shy about the perks of being on someone’s payroll.

He grabs a copy of the thick file the station has on the Fakehaus crew on his way out. He’s not _technically_ supposed to have it, but he figures the Chief’s “All Hands on Deck” speech following the failed bust kind of gives him carte blanche. Miles can’t shake the feeling that _something_ isn’t right and he’s always been the one to keep picking at something even when it seems cut and dry. His parents got a lot of reports from teachers about that.

He spends the night looking over the file and it basically just tells him what he was already thinking. The undercover cop had missed her last check in, which had tipped off the rest of the cops. In her reports, no one is mentioned by name except for in the very _last_ one. It’s tacked on the end, like she was in a rush writing it and it’s missing the detail of her other reports. It reads almost like an afterthought. Miles spoons rice into his mouth as he reads and rereads, his brow furrowed. It doesn’t make _sense_.

By the time he looks up from the file it’s super late and totally dark outside. He has to rub his eyes. “This is fucked up,” he says to his empty apartment. His phone buzzes on the coffee table and Miles grins when he sees Michael’s name flash across the screen.

>> what’re you wearing?

_< that’s awfully forward of you_

>> I feel like that’s code for nothing

_< if you MUST know, I’m still in my work clothes._

>> dude its like 1 am???

_< I’m doing some extra work at home. off the clock stuff_

>> sneaky sneaky

_< well someone has to do some work for the precinct. they’d honestly fall apart without me_

>> I bet :)

Miles’ face literally _hurts_ because he’s smiling so hard. This crush he’s got on Michael is goddamned ridiculous.

>> so what are you working on that you don’t even know what fucking time it is?

Miles hesitates. Michael doesn’t know what he’s working on but is he pumping for information? Or is he just trying to start a conversation? Miles hasn’t ever had this happen before. Normally he’s more than happy to chat up and make small talk with people he likes, but this is kind of new territory.

_< Boring police stuff _

>> Boring like, parking tickets? or boring like ‘this is code for I can’t tell you because it’s secret’?

_< Michael…_

>> Okay, okay I got it.

Miles stands up and stretches. He gathers his leftover Chinese food and dumps the containers in the trash. He grabs his phone and the huge file and makes his way to his room.

_< so why are YOU up so late, Michael?_

>> Boring gang stuff

>> ;)

_< you’re an asshole_

>> it’s my thing :)

Miles snickers because Michael isn’t _wrong_. Miles has a _type_ and Michael hits pretty much all of his checkmarks. He throws his file down on the bed and rubs his face with his hands. When he crosses the room to grab stuff for a shower, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looks like shit, in all honesty. There are huge bags under his eyes and his beard could use some serious maintenance. He grabs a fresh pair of underwear and his phone and heads to the bathroom.

As he takes off his dress shirt, he stops, considering his phone where it lays on the counter. In a moment of—what’s the opposite of clarity? In a moment of _something_ , he decides to snap a picture of himself in the mirror with his dress shirt half off and the buckle of his belt undone. Okay, so he snaps _a bunch_ until he finds one that he likes, but Michael is a hot guy that he wants to impress. Sue him.

He debates adding a message, waffling back and forth between something sexy or playing it off like a regular picture because _what if_ Michael isn’t into it? In the end, he just sends the picture and a sleepy emoji. Miles finishes getting undressed and turns on his shower just as his phone goes off.

>> are you trying to fucking kill me, luna?

Miles grins stupidly at his phone.

_< what ever do you mean, Michael? I’m just getting ready to shower and go to bed._

>> getting ready to shower? so you’re naked right now?

Miles snorts and rolls his eyes.

_< someone’s got naughty thoughts on his mind_

>> well the last time I was in your shower I was sucking your cock so…

Miles reaches down to palm himself. He remembers of course. Remembers Michael on his knees while the water fell around them. He’d jerked off almost every shower since thinking about it. He doesn’t give his brain time to talk himself out of it and points his camera over his back to snap a picture of his bare ass and sends it to Michael.

>> jesus fucking christ.

>> I want to ruin that ass, luna

Miles swallows thickly, already half-hard with the idea of sending Michael sexy pictures. Michael said he was working. Doing crew stuff. Miles wonders if he’s sitting in the FAHC headquarters blushing over these pictures. Wonders if Ramsey or Free has noticed. He doesn’t touch himself, fully. Yet.

_< yeah? how’d you go about that?_

>> christ miles.

>> you know how I said I participated in rimming? I wanna make you come with my mouth on you

“Fuck,” Miles says, the word echoing off the tile walls of his bathroom.

_< you think you’re that good?_

>> I know I am, buddy. you’d come so fast with my tongue in your ass and my hand on your dick

Miles groans, reaches over to flick off the shower. He’s not getting to that any time soon.

>> are you touching yourself, miles?

_< no. not yet._

>> do it.

Miles sighs, wraps his hand around his dick and squeezes to relieve some of the ache. He scoops up his phone and takes more pictures. This time, he angles the camera down his body, catching some of his chest, the slight swell of his belly and his hand on his dick. He finds one he’s satisfied with and sends it off.

>> fuck miles, I’m gonna get hard in fucking public.

So he is with the rest of them, Miles thinks. He grins and snaps a selfie of his cheesy smile to send off to Michael.

>> stop being so fucking cute while I’m trying to get you off, idiot.

_< you’re so sweet to me, Michael._

>> you bet your sweet ass, luna. now tell me what you’re doing.

Miles flushes. He hasn’t sexted since college but he figures he can hop back on the proverbial horse.

_< I’m touching myself. really slow. I’m taking my time_

>> you like it slow, huh? draw it out?

_< sometimes. sometimes I fuck my hand fast and hard just to get off_

_< right now I’m thinking about you teasing me though_

Miles makes his way to his bed and grabs the bottle of lube from his beside table. He slicks his hand quickly, groaning at the new feeling when he runs his hand over his dick. He scrambles for his phone when it vibrates on the covers next to him.

>> that’s good miles, because I would. I’d tease you till you were begging for me

Miles moans at that. As much as he likes to be in control in the bedroom, having Michael, begging for him, giving that control over to him is really fucking working for him right now. He angles his phone so it catches him biting his bottom lip while he squeezes the base of his dick. He doesn’t even try to take one that’s good, just sends it off and goes back to the slow tease, his hips pressing up from the bed, just barely thrusting into his hand.

>> you’re so fucking hot, miles. god damn dude. your fucking mouth. i miss that mouth

_< it’s been like a week, Michael._

>> doesn’t mean I can’t miss it.

>> do you have lube?

_< yeah_

>> I want you to fuck your hand, quick and fast the way you use to get off.

_< I’m gonna come embarrassingly fast_

_< I REALLY liked sending those pictures_

>> that’s good. you’re so good Miles.

Miles swallows thickly.

_< always good for you Michael_

It’s honestly not something Miles thought he was into but he’s picturing it coming from Michael, the soft look in Michael’s eyes that neither of them have the right to have when they look at each other. It’s not some bullshit rom com and they’re not dopey assholes who fall for each other after two dates.

Right?

>> Miles I want you to send me a picture after you come, okay? I wanna see you.

Miles, because he’s an asshole, decides to do Michael one better. He’s already so close so he thumbs over to the video setting and hits record. He has no idea how the video looks and he knows his recording hand is shaky because his whole fucking body is shaking while he fucks his hand quickly. He should be embarrassed of the sounds he’s making and _maybe_ he plays them up a little, the breathy moans and the sharp inhales, but he’s not because he’s thinking about Michael’s mouth and he way his lips felt on Miles’ neck. His orgasm hits him, washing over his heated skin and his thighs are shaking as he whimpers out Michael’s name.

Miles cleans up with an old gym shirt from the foot of his bed and grins as he sends the video on his way back to the bathroom.

_< it’s not a picture, but let me know what you think_

When he gets out of the shower, his inbox is filled with swears and dead-face emojis and a message that just says:

>> you’re SO going to pay for that, luna

Miles is unsurprisingly okay with that.

\-----

When he goes into the precinct the next day, Kyle is waiting by his desk. “You look like shit,” he says.

“Fuck off, Kyle,” Miles sighs.

Kyle grins and flicks Miles’ ear. “Late night? Did you see the mouth-hugger again?”

Miles flails his arms at him and frowns as he sits down. “Please stop referring to the person I’m seeing as one of the forms from the fucking _Aliens_ movies.”

“Don’t be bitter just because Hullum asked you if you got into a fight with an octopus,” Kyle teases.

“You’re the worst best friend I’ve ever had and I’m fucking friends with _Kerry_.” Miles lets his head fall to his arms on his desk.

“You wound me,” Kyle says, not sounding like he means it at all. “Don’t get comfortable, sleeping beauty. We’ve got a meeting with Marquette in 5 minutes.”

“What? Why?”

“Why the fuck knows. He’s on a fucking power trip after all this FakeHaus business.”

“I hate that guy,” Miles groans. “He’s like the human equivalent of what cat pee smells like.” Kyle’s eyes are wide and his eyebrows raises while he looks over Miles’ shoulder. “Holy shit, he’s right behind me isn’t he?”

Kyle hold the face for a second more before he breaks and laughs. “Nah, I’m just fucking with you, Luna.”

“Worst. Best friend. _Ever_.”

\-----

The meeting, predictably, goes terribly. Marquette drones on and on about how it’s _his_ case and any leads need to go through him, even if they seem totally unrelated. Anything pertaining to the FH guys _or_ the FAHC.

“Why Fake AH?” Miles asks stupidly, still not knowing when to keep his mouth shut.

Marquette turns on him and narrows his eyes. “They’re connected gangs,” he says.

“Yeah but—it’s not like Ramsey _owns_ them, right?” Miles says through Kyle elbowing him roughly in the side. “They’re _connected_ but there’s literally no evidence pointing to AH on this.”

“And how would you know that, Luna?”

“There’s nothing in the file,” he shoots back.

Marquette looks _pissed_. “Why have _you_ been looking at the file?”

Miles bristles at the at the condescension in Marquette’s voice. “Because I’m a detective at this precinct and have been stationed here my entire law career. I’ve been working the FakeHaus crew since before they even joined the Fakes. I know them. I’m trying to help.” Kyle stares at Miles, mouth open. He doesn’t generally go off on people, especially senior detectives and definitely not someone like Marquette.

Marquette opens his mouth to respond but Hullum steps in. “This is a precinct-wide case. The more eyes the better.” Marquette glares at Miles but goes back to his speech. Miles’ pulse is racing and the looks Marquette’s team keep sending him aren’t helping.

Kyle leans over and whispers a very impressed sounding, “ _Dude_.”

On the way out the meeting, Hullum catches him by the arm. “That was a side of you I’ve never seen before,” he says carefully.

Miles swallows. “I don’t—I worked hard to get here, sir. I’m a good detective and—“

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing, Miles,” the Captain says, smiling. “You _are_ a good cop. Keep it up.” He leaves Miles standing there, mouth gaping until Kyle shoves at his shoulder. “What was that about?”

“I think Hullum gave me a compliment? Or at the very least was chill about me sassing Marquette.”

Kyle laughs. “Everyone was like, ‘OH SHIT, Miles got _balls_!’ I didn’t realize you were like, a badass.”

Miles shoves him back. “I’ve always been a badass. You’re just too dumb to see it.”

“Ouch, Luna,” Kyle says. “See if I’m ever nice to you again.”

Miles sits at his desk and watches Marquette and his team while they talk to Hullum by the door to his office. He looks away quickly when one of the detectives meets his gaze and frowns. “I hate that guy.”

Kyle looks up from his computer. “So you’ve said.”

“He’s—there’s something wrong with him. I mean, I know he’s an asshole, but…”

“You think he’s dirty?” Kyle asks. Miles bites his lip. Kyle’s a transfer in from the next city. He doesn’t know the precinct like Miles does and Miles doesn’t particularly want to get Kyle more in the know than he has to. Sure, if Kyle was going to do something to jeopardize his own safety against one of the dirty cops, Miles would step in but he doesn’t want Kyle to assume that everyone here is a piece of shit. There are a lot of good officers, a lot of good men and women who work _hard_. And, if he’s being honest, he feels kind of like he wants to protect Kyle from the bullshit for a little bit longer.

And Kyle is too _good_. He would go all white knight and try to take down the dirty cops and Miles is afraid that he’s going to get hurt.

“I dunno man,” he says finally and _lamely_. Kyle narrows his eyes, but he drops the subject. “There’s just something.”

“You’re being cryptic as hell lately,” Kyle says. “First the mystery octopus and now this.”

Miles groans and hangs his head. “Don’t call him an octopus,” he whines.

“Him, huh? Well that narrows it to precisely 49% of the population.”

“Shut the fuck up, Kyle.”

\------

When he gets back to his apartment, his first thought is to text Michael and for once, he doesn’t let his overactive brain even think twice about it.

_< Hey, you busy?_

He pulls more leftovers from his fridge and opens the container to smell them. He doesn’t immediately feel like puking so he assumes the cold Indian food is safe to eat.

>> Just robbing a bank, why?

_< The worst part is I totally believe you would text me from a bank robbery._

>> Nah I’m just playin. I just finished working out with Jeremy.

_< The leprechaun?_

>> omg he was so pissed off when I told him you called him that

>> But seriously, what’s up?

Miles hesitates. He wants to ask about the Fakehaus guys. Something isn’t right and he can’t put his finger on it but it would be way overstepping to ask Michael, right? The thing is, he _likes_ the FH crew. They’re not terrible people for all the mayhem they cause and this whole thing feels kind of like a set up. He types a message out at least five times before settling on one and hitting send.

_< You hear about what happened with Fakehaus? I mean I know you guys are like affiliated but…idk. there’s something up with this whole thing I think and I just can’t figure out what the fuck is going on. They don’t DO shit like they’re being accused of, you know?_

The second he hits send, he regrets it. God, _what_ was he thinking? He can’t ask a criminal about _other_ criminals and he shouldn’t be disparaging the LSPD investigation. Miles is losing his fucking mind.

There’s something about Michael though. He hasn’t felt like this since he met Kyle, like there was an _instant_ connection between the two of them. The thing with Michael is different but almost _deeper_. It doesn’t make any fucking sense but Miles feels like he trusts him even without having a reason to.

The three little bubbles pop up and Miles panics.

_< Oh my god never mind. that was like, super inappropriate. holy hell. I am so sorry._

The bubbles disappear and then start again a second later.

>> there’s some stuff going on with all the criminals in LS. fuck I probably shouldn’t be telling you about it but you’re right. there’s something going on.

Holy shit. Miles mind races at the onslaught of information.

_< Can I meet you somewhere. I want to see you. Not about the FH thing. I just wanna see you. We don’t have to talk about this or even at all if you don’t want._

>> Yeah. I’ll meet you. The same bar as before?

_< Perfect. I’ll be there in 20 minutes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE PLOT THO


	6. The One That Moves the Plot Forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it goes friends! We got SEX we got INTRIGUE we got PLOT

Miles kisses Michael sweetly when he sees him. He doesn’t even say hello first, just cups Michael’s face with his hands and presses their lips together. Michael sighs and something in his chest warms. When they part, Miles grins down at him. “Hey.”

Michael returns the smile and he can tell his cheeks are pink. “Hey to you too, asshole.” He leads them to a dark booth in the back, one of the ones where the seats wrap around the table and they slide in on either side, ending up pressed together at the corner. After their initial greeting, neither has said anything but Michael feels like his batteries are recharging just from being here.

“We’re pretty fucked, huh?” Michael says suddenly.

Miles laughs but it comes out a little bit bitter. “Most definitely.”

They order drinks and make small talk. Michael feels the tension leaving his shoulders the longer he sits next to Miles. “It’s not just me, right?” he asks. “Like this is a thing, whatever’s going on with us. I feel like I’m in a damn chick flick.”

“No, dude. Like, I wasn’t lying when I said I just wanted to see you. I’ve been thinking about you all day,” Miles says. “I’m not—I’m generally not like this.”

Michael sighs. “Me either.”

“You wanna get out of here? Come back to my place?”

“Yeah, I think I’d really like that.”

\--------

They’re not as rushed this time around. This time, Miles strips Michael of his clothes slowly, his hands bordering on too gentle in a way that makes Michael’s head spin.

It starts with Miles standing between Michael’s legs as he sits on the counter in the tiny kitchen—they ended up there under the pretense of grabbing a drink but when Michael hopped up onto the countertop, something flashed in Miles’ eyes and god, Michael doesn’t want him to ever stop kissing him.

Miles gets a hand under Michael’s shirt, and then another as he lifts the thing slowly over Michael’s head, breaking the kiss just long enough to gasp in some air. Miles’ hands feel so big on his face as he tilts him the direction he wants him to be, Michael going easily—always so easy for Miles. He wraps one of his legs around Miles’ lower back to reel him in closer, kisses him like he’s drowning and Miles is the only oxygen. One of Miles’ hands falls to his lower back, presses him forward and then he’s grinding against Miles’ stomach and the kiss they share breaks off in a moan.

He gets a hand in Miles’ hair, doesn’t tug, just rests it there and Miles makes a happy sound as he works over Michael’s neck with his lips. Michael’s torn between how fucking good this all feels and wanting to get Miles’ attention, to move this _anywhere_ else. Hell, if they end up fucking on the couch that’d be fine by him but Miles seems to feel the same way because his hands go under Michael’s thighs and _lift_. Christ, Michael didn’t know that was a _thing_ but Miles is still kissing him while he’s got his legs wrapped tight around his hips and he’s carrying him out of the kitchen.

Michael can feel where his dick is pressed against Miles’ body and he gives an experimental roll of his hips that has Miles pushing him up against the wall with a whimper in the middle of the hallway. “If you keep doing that, I’m not gonna be able to get us back to the bed,” he says, resting his forehead against Michael’s and grinding his own hips forward. Michael gasps, the hot line of Miles’ dick very evident through his jeans. “Fuck, Michael.” Miles readjusts his grip and hefts Michael into his arms again, this time, making it all the way to the bed.

Miles drops him carefully and when he tries to pull away, Michael wraps a hand behind his head to pull him back for another kiss. It borders on too soft, too slow and Miles makes a quiet sound in the back of his throat when they part, eyes still closed even as Michael studies his face. Miles finally blinks, opens his eyes and stares down at Michael for a moment, opens his mouth to speak but seems to think better of it. He leans back, stripping off his t-shirt and helping Michael pull his jeans from his legs. They laugh when the pants gets stuck on Michael’s foot and he has to pull a little bit harder, yanking until they finally slip free. He pushes his own pants off, leaving both of them in just their underwear.

Miles crawls back onto the bed then, grabs one of Michael’s legs and pulls it to rest over his hip while he situates himself. Michael’s other thigh is pressed between Miles’ legs and Miles thrusts shallowly with a groan. He’s still got a hand on Michael’s outer thigh and his fingers slide down his leg, gripping his ass and somehow, pulling Michael tighter against him. Michael sighs, something caught between happy and impatient when Miles kisses the underside of his jaw.

“Come on, Miles,” he says quietly.

“Mmm?” Miles replies sounding like he’s not really listening. His mouth is like a brand on Michael’s skin, hot and _perfect_.

Michael squeezes his eyes shut. His mind is racing because it’s never been this good before and they’re just kissing and rutting against each other like teenagers. “Miles,” he breathes out and _fuck_ , he sounds so goddamn desperate. It betrays the things he’s been telling himself all week; that people don’t get attached this easily.

Miles tears himself away from Michael’s skin to kiss him again, this time a little bit harder, a little bit less in control. “Yeah, okay. I got you, Michael,” and Michael opens his eyes to see something easy on Miles’ face that he can’t quite put his finger on.

Michael feels like he’s losing time with each press of Miles’ mouth to his skin. He works his way down his chest, over his stomach—stopping briefly to suck a mark over the just fading bruise at his hip. Michael whimpers at that and the grin he gets makes his heart go a funny staccato against his ribs.

Everything happens fast and slow at the same time. Michael’s got a hand in Miles’ hair, Miles has his mouth on Michael’s dick and Michael can’t catch his breath. There’s a dry finger rubbing carefully over him and Michael wants to push down onto it, hips caught between that and thrusting up into Miles’ mouth. “Stop playing around,” he says. He wants it to come out harshly but he misses by a fucking mile and ends up somewhere in the realm of begging.

“Fine.” Miles leaves him then, abandons Michael in favor of grabbing the lube and condom from his drawer and the abruptness has Michael reeling and he shudders. Miles is back a moment later and he kisses apologies on Michael’s cheeks, his temples, his lips, peppering his whole face until Michael is grinning and pushing him away.

“Asshole,” he says.

“You know it,” Miles shoots back. He’s efficient, opens Michael thoroughly until he’s worked up to three fingers and Michael is _begging_.

“Fuck you, Luna,” Michael whines when Miles presses firmly against his prostate. “Ffffuck you. Fuck me right now, you dick.” Miles laughs where his forehead is pressed against Michael’s thigh and presses in once more in a way that makes Michael’s legs shake but he concedes, withdrawing his fingers to slick himself up and roll on the condom.

“Flip over baby,” he says, encouraging Michael to move with a tap to his hip. Michael does, ends up on his hands and knees and waits for Miles to make the next move. Which is apparently _away_ from Michael to settle at the headboard, leaned against the pillows. He reaches a hand out and beckons Michael closer. “Come here,” he says softly and Michael is helpless to do anything but what he asks.

Miles kisses him like something precious in a way that makes Michael want to _run_ but he’s settling over Miles’ lap instead, pinned by the heady feeling in the room and his own craving. He tangles a hand in Miles’ hair, his other arm wrapped around the back of Miles’ neck when he sinks slowly, the stretch making his breath hitch and his eyes shut. Miles’ face is pressed to his chest and all his breath leaves, hot against Michael’s skin. “Miles, _Miles_ ,” he gasps because he can feel the way Miles’ fingers are pressing into his back and the way his thighs are trembling beneath Michael’s own.

“I got you,” Miles is saying. “You’re so good—feel so good.” And he keeps mumbling little praises and unintelligible things into Michael’s chest and it’s almost too much. “Please move Michael, _please_ ,” Miles begs and Michael feels a pleasant buzz because _he_ did this.

“Okay,” he spits out, “Okay, yeah.” He lifts himself just enough, rolls his hips and Miles’ grip tightens. “Fuck, Miles.” He damn legs are shaking and he feels achingly full. Miles is everywhere, wrapping him up tightly and filling him so perfectly. “Gotta—gotta help me out here,” Michael groans.

Miles gets the point apparently because he’s thrusting up and Michael’s hips stutter. “God, Michael. Been thinking about this. Thinking about how good you feel,” Miles says, because he can’t _stop_ talking.

“Sh-shut up, Miles. Shut up and fuck me,” Michael bites back. Miles’ hand slides up his back to rest between his shoulder blades and he fucks up into Michael hard enough to steal his breath. “Yeah, fuck. Like that, Miles,” he moans.

He pulls back enough to crash his lips against Miles’, marveling in the way that his mouth still tastes a little like the beer from the bar and whatever else makes up his _Miles_ ness. They’re moving together, a point-counterpoint rhythm that has Michael’s dick trapped between his and Miles’ stomach in a perfect way. He somehow wraps his legs around Miles’ back, kicking all the pillows out of the way. Miles makes a noise in the back of his throat when Michael shifts, changes the angle and Miles slides even deeper inside him.

“ _Christ_ ,” Miles growls and suddenly Michael’s world is spinning and he lands on his back with an _oof_. He keeps his legs wrapped around Miles, encouraging him to move faster, to fuck him harder, and Miles has his arms wrapped under Michael’s, hands gripping his shoulders and pulling him down to meet every single thrust. Michael’s world is collapsing around him, with every movement and he wants _more_ , needs it, wants everything but this feeling to burn.

“’m close,” he grunts as Miles sucks a mark onto his neck. “Miles—“

“I got you,” Miles says again, and _god_ , how many times has he said that tonight? _I got you_. It feels like he’s the only thing holding Michael here—the press of his fingers and the heat of his mouth grounding Michael in this plane of existence. There’s a hand on his dick and Michael’s back arches and he’s _begging_ to come, face pressed into Miles’ shoulder, teeth scraping his skin. His body shakes apart and Miles fucks him through it, hisses when Michael bite into his skin as he comes.

Michael whispers dirty things as he comes down and Miles chases his own orgasm. “I want you to come, Miles. Come in me,” he says. Miles’ lips find his and Michael swallows the noises Miles makes as he finishes, fingers almost bruising on Michael’s shoulders.

They lay together for what borders on too long before Miles pulls out and stumbles to the bathroom for a wet washcloth and to throw away the condom. Michael watches him go while the sweat cools on his skin, thankful for a moment alone if only because he’s not sure what he’s feeling. His heart is still racing and he’s trying his best not to think about how the times he’s felt the best in the last few weeks have been when he was with Miles.

It’s too _much_.

Miles appears in the doorway and catches Michael looking. He smiles and it’s not what Michael was expecting. It’s small and secretive, the kind of smile you do without even realizing you’re doing it.

“What the fuck are we doing, Miles?” he asks and Miles frowns.

“Well, I was going to use this washcloth to clean you up,” he says.

Michael glares at him as he crosses the room. “You know what I meant.”

Miles sighs. “I know.”

“This is—it’s a lot, you know?”

Miles wipes his skin carefully, cleans him and leans over to press a kiss to his temple. “I know, Michael.” Miles tosses the soiled washcloth in the direction of his hamper. He misses. “It is a lot but there’s something—“

“Yeah,” Michael says softly. “I know.”

Miles climbs on the bed and pulls Michael into his arms so they’re face to face. “For a couple of guys who don’t know _shit_ we’re certainly _saying_ we do an excessive amount.”

Michael snorts. “We’re idiots honestly.”

“Yep,” Miles says, popping the ‘p’ sound. He considers Michael for a moment, eyes searching his face like it might have the answers even though Michael feels like he’s adrift. “I like being around you,” he says finally. “I like your laugh and your sense of humor.”

Michael grins. “I like your freckles,” he says, poking the bridge of Miles’ nose. “And your dick,” he adds on in a way that makes it sound like an afterthought. Miles laughs and it’s _beautiful_.

“You’re trouble, Jones.”

Michael leans in and kisses the smile from Miles’ face. “Always have been, Miles.”

\--------

They fall asleep like that once they’ve both put their underwear back on, pressed tightly together in Miles’ bed and Michael doesn’t even think about leaving before pancakes the next day.

The pancakes, unfortunately, never come.

Miles’ phone goes off at 2 am and wakes them both up. He scrambles for it in the dark, accepting the call and croaking out a “Detective Luna.”

Michael doesn’t hear much of the other side of the call, but Miles sits up suddenly, switching on the light. “Who?” he asks. “When?” and Michael’s gut feels twisted when Miles shoots him a concerned look. “All of them? There’s evidence of all of them there?” Miles throws off the covers and starts pacing in his boxers, one hand running through his hair until it’s standing on end. Michael pulls Miles’ pillow under his chest, propping himself up to watch.

“No, yeah. I understand. I’ll be there at 6 to supervise. All right. Yeah,” Miles says and then he’s hanging up the phone to stare at Michael.

“What? What happened?” Michael asks. His fingers are tangled in the pillowcase in a way that betrays the calm tone of his voice.

“LSPD just broke up a child trafficking ring,” Miles says slowly.

Michael frowns. “Okay?”

“There was a lot of evidence at the scene but they missed catching the people responsible. There was another undercover killed.” Miles is staring at his phone in his hand.

“Miles. Miles _look_ at me,” Michael says. “What the fuck is going on?”

“All the evidence points one direction,” Miles says, looking up at Michael. He looks scared and confused. “It all points to the Fake AH Crew. There’s a BOLO out on the whole crew. The LSPD is actively looking for you.”

“That’s—That’s impossible,” Michael stammers. “We don’t—we’d _never_ —“ He doesn’t know why it’s so important that Miles knows that this wasn’t them. Wasn’t _him_.

Miles holds up a hand and Michael’s mouth slams shut. “I asked Kyle, I asked him if there was evidence at the deal that happened tonight of _all_ the crew and he said yes. He said _everyone was definitely there_.”

“Miles—“

Miles starts to pace again, not looking at Michael. “Which is obviously a fucking lie, right? Well not a lie, like Kyle wouldn’t _lie_ about it, but the evidence is _wrong_ , right?”

“Miles, what—?”

“It can’t be everyone,” Miles says talking half to Michael and half to himself. “Even if I thought—if the Fakes _were_ behind this whole thing? You were _here_ Michael. There’s no—there can’t be evidence from you at the scene if you were _here_.”

Michael feels the air rush from him in one breath. Miles doesn’t think he did it. Miles _knows_ he didn’t do it.

Miles is panicking suddenly. “Oh my god, I can’t—I can’t let them go after you guys! I mean, you’re not _good guys_ but you didn’t do this. This wasn’t you! But I can’t—I can’t exactly just go up to the precinct and be like ‘Nope you’re wrong! Know how I know? I’m fucking Michael Jones!’ Oh holy shit, what the fuck am I gonna do? I’m going to lose my fucking _job_ —“ Michael crosses the room and kisses him hard to break Miles from his freak out.

“Miles, babe. _Breathe_ ,” he says when they part and Miles presses his forehead against Michael’s. “We’re—we can figure this out. We’ll figure _something_ out.” Miles grips at his hips, the tightness of his fingers in conflict with his slowing breaths. Michael’s head spins and lands on the only explanation for all of this. “Larkin,” he mutters.

“What?” Miles asks.

“Larkin!” Michael says again, louder and this time, directed at Miles.

“As in, Andrew Larkin, prominent business man?”

“As in giant douche who’s got a finger in every pie and uses those fingers to stir up weapons deals and human trafficking,” Michael responds. “He’s the one behind this. We’ve been tailing him for _weeks_. He set up Fakehaus too.”

“Holy shit,” Miles whispers. “Holy shit, I need to tell someone. I have to go to Hullum or the Chief, or—“

“No,” Michael says. “No you can’t!”

Miles stares at him. “Why not? I’m sure we could dig up some stuff on him. He—“

“Miles, _please_ ,” Michael says, dread creeping into his stomach. “Larkin’s too good. He’s got cops all over your precinct. All over all the precincts! You can’t take this there.”

“Michael, I’ll be fine! I know the dirty cops, I can—“

“You don’t understand,” Michael growls, turning away, freeing himself from Miles’ grasp. “You _can’t_ , Miles. You can’t do that.”

“Michael—why?”

Michael whirls on him. “I don’t want you to get hurt!”

And there it is, he said the thing. The second Larkin came into the equation, Michael’s chest has felt tight and his stomach in knots. He doesn’t want Miles involved in this. He’s seen what Larkin is capable of and _god_ , he doesn’t know if he can handle Miles getting caught in the crossfire.

“Michael, it’s my _job_.” Miles says, eyes wide. “If I—if I don’t do anything, if I know all this information and don’t use it, then I’m—I’m not doing my job and _other_ people will get hurt.”

Michael feels himself crumbling. “I don’t know if I can take seeing you get hurt, Miles.” He reaches out a hand and Miles goes into his arms easily. Everything is always so easy with Miles and its breaking Michael.

“And what about you?”

“What?”

“I’m supposed to just let you and the Fakes go after Larkin?” Miles asks softly.

“He came for us first,” Michael says.

“That doesn’t mean I want to see _you_ get hurt,” Miles admits. “It’s not fair to say I can’t do something just so you can.”

“That’s not—“

“I know,” Miles sighs. “I get it, but it’s my _job_.”

Michael buries his head into Miles chest and groans. “What the _fuck_ are we going to do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hit me up on tumblr @thilesluna


	7. Is There a Parallel Universe Where This Doesn't Suck?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot of fallout from Miles and Michael's discovery and now they have to find a way to explain it to the people close to them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slightly shorter chapter, but it's really starting to get plot heavy and man, LPL was distracting.

Michael calls Lindsay on his way to the penthouse. She picks up with a groggy sounding voice. “Michael it’s 2:45 in the fucking—“

“Linds, you gotta meet us at the penthouse,” he says, cutting her off.

When she speaks again, she seems instantly more awake. “A crew thing?”

“Yeah. I’m on my way there right now. I’m gonna call Geoff when I hang up with you.”

She’s all business, voice hard and Michael knows she’s got her game face on. “I need to bring anything?”

“No, just—be careful getting there okay?” he says.

“Michael what’s going on?”

“Linds, just hurry,” he says, ignoring the guilt that’s roiling in his belly. He didn’t do what she told him and he hates lying to her. Hates the look he _knows_ is coming from her and from the rest of them too.

She doesn’t sound happy about the deflection but she lets it go. “See you in 10.”

When she hangs up, Michael steels himself to call Geoff. He can picture the disappointment on Geoff’s face already and he feels worse than ever but this isn’t about how much he fucked up. It’s about the crew and making sure everyone is safe. He makes the call, swerves to avoid a slow moving car. He grits his teeth, remembering that the cops are looking for him and makes himself drive like a normal human.

The phone rings once, twice, and halfway through a third before Geoff picks it up with a “This better be goddamn important.”

“Geoff, I need you to get everyone up.”

“Michael?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Listen, I know it sounds weird but just do it okay?”

“What the fuck—“

“ _Geoff_ ,” Michael says, impatient. “Just trust me.”

There’s a sigh over the line and Geoff says, “I trust you, buddy.” And Michael’s gut feels like it got kicked. _You trust me for now_ , he thinks. “I assume you called Lindsay already?”

“Yeah, she’s on her way.”

“I also assume you’re just going to wait to get here to fill me in?”

“It’ll be easier that way,” Michael says. He doesn’t say _Even though this might make you all hate me_.

\-----

He lets himself into the penthouse and everyone is already in the living room in various states of undress. Jeremy is in a tank top and boxers, Gavin’s lounging in track pants and a hoodie. Jack is wearing one of Ryan’s shirts and a pair of gym shorts while Ryan stands by the back of the couch in just a pair of flannel pajama bottoms. Only Geoff and Lindsay seem to have gotten totally dressed.

“What’s going on, Michael?” Gavin asks as soon as he walks in.

“The LSPD is on a manhunt for us,” he says. Everyone starts talking at once and he has to shout to get their attention back. “HEY! Listen, Larkin planted evidence at a warehouse being used for one of his human trafficking rings. He must know we’re onto him.”

“What the fuck,” Geoff says, collapsing to the couch, his head in his hands.

“We have to be careful,” Michael goes on. “I don’t know how much he knows about us, but we’ve got the advantage because he _doesn’t_ know that we already know he tried this shit.”

“How do we know, again?” Ryan says suddenly.

“What?”

“You kind of _glossed_ over how you know this,” he responds. “How do you know?”

“Does it matter?” Michael asks. He looks at all of them and his heart sinks. Jeremy won’t meet his eye and Gavin looks nervous. Jack rests a hand on Ryan’s arm while Lindsay stands near the couch, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Yes! How the fuck do we know it’s good intel? You’re being really fucking sketchy,” Ryan says stepping toward Michael. Jack’s hand slips from his arm.

Michael feels anger coil in his chest. “You don’t believe me?”

A voice cuts through the tension but it’s not the one Michael expects. It’s Gavin. “Boi, we _do_ , it’s just—how do you _know_?”

He’s not sure why it stings so much but he feels the bitter edge of betrayal just for a moment before he remembers _he’s_ the one fucking a goddamn cop. He sticks his chin out toward Ryan, holds his ground “I’ve got a guy inside the LSPD.”

Geoff’s head pops up at that. He narrows his eyes as he looks at Michael. “We never decided to put a new cop on payroll.”

“He’s not—he’s not _dirty_. He’s not on the payroll. He’s—“

“Michael’s fucking a cop,” Lindsay interrupts and Michael’s blood runs cold. They all look from her to him and he can feel how intensely they’re looking at him but he can’t seem to meet any of their eyes.

“What the _fuck_!” Ryan spits out and then the whole crew starts talking at once. Michael’s heart is racing and he still can’t look at anyone’s face directly. He can tell by the set of Ryan’s shoulders that his body is tense, he’s wound up in the way he gets when he wants to kill or at least seriously maim something.

“Everybody shut the fuck up!” Jeremy yells suddenly and, surprisingly, everyone does. “We need a _plan_.”

Michael’s phone goes off in his pocket and he pulls it out as Lindsay says, “Jeremy’s right. We can kick Michael’s ass for his shitty life decisions later but Larkin is making his move and we need to figure out what we’re going to do next.”

The text is from Miles and Michael’s heart drops when he reads it.

>> Get out of the penthouse. Get everyone out. LSPD on their way.

“We have to go,” he says, moving toward his room to grab whatever he might need.

“What?” Geoff demands. “What are you talking about?”

Michael turns and brandishes his phone at them. “We have to get out of the penthouse! The fucking cops are on their way here!”

“According to who?” Ryan sneers and the acid in his voice makes Michael flinch. “Your inside man?”

But then he feels a flare of anger again. “Yeah, Ryan. You can be pissed off at me all you fucking want. I get it. I fucked up like really hardcore but Miles knows what the fuck he’s talking about. Larkin planted evidence about _all_ of us.” He looks at each crewmember in turn and hates the blank stares he gets in return. “We’ve been watching him but he’s been watching us back and he obviously knows where the penthouse is. You can sit here with your thumb up your ass because Miles is the one telling us to split but I’m not getting got because you’re being a stubborn ass.”

The crew stares at him and he throws his hands in the air. “Look, I’m really fucking sorry about lying and keeping the thing with Miles from you but if you don’t get your shit together so we can get out of here before they show up, then that’s on you.” He turns then and stalks into his room to get what he needs.

Michael hears them talking quietly after he leaves but he also hears bedroom doors opening and people moving around and he leans against his own door with a sigh.

_< Thank you_

\-----

Miles gets to the precinct 20 minutes after Michael leaves, pressing a kiss to his lips that left them both breathless.

“Be safe,” he’d said and Michael had just smiled, a little bit sad, as he left. Miles _hated_ it.

The whole place is _chaos_ when he gets in. There are people rushing all over the place, shouting at each other and he has to stop and just take it all in. He only has a moment to do that though because Kyle comes rushing over to him, out of breath and his face flushed with excitement.

“This is _crazy_ ,” he says but Miles just feels sick.

“Yeah…crazy,” he replies. Kyle claps him on the back and grins.

He makes it over to his desk just in time to see Marquette’s smug fucking face appear out of the bustling commotion. “Hey there, Luna.”

“Marquette,” Miles says coldly. He doesn’t have the energy or patience to put up with this shit right now. Especially when he knows Marquette is _obviously_ in Larkin’s pocket.

“Guess you were wrong about the Fakes, huh?”

Miles wants to punch him.

“Guess so,” he says instead, not looking at Marquette.

The man chuckles and it’s a nasty sounding thing that makes Miles’ skin crawl. “Listen, since you’re such a huge fan of the AH Crew, I’ll let you watch through the two-way when I bring them all in.”

“Good luck finding them,” Miles mutters under his breath.

Apparently he wasn’t quiet enough. “Oh I already know where they are, asshole,” Marquette sneers.

Miles’ head snaps up at that. “What?”

“We’ve got evidence that identifies Ramsey’s penthouse. We’ve always thought they were right under our noses. Turns out, they’re right downtown, the arrogant pricks,” Marquette says and Miles’ blood runs cold. “You know,” he goes on, “maybe you _won’t_ be able to watch through the mirror. They’re dangerous, after all. The order might have to be to shoot on sight.”

Miles’ fists clench on his thighs and he _finally_ looks at Marquette. The motherfucker looks so goddamn pleased with himself that Miles finds himself standing without even meaning to, drawing himself up to his full height and ready to get up in Marquette’s face. He sees a flurry motion behind Marquette and realizes that the man’s posse—probably all also in Larkin’s pocket, he thinks angrily—has stood and are watching him intensely. Miles unclenches his fists and takes a deep breath, grinning at Marquette. He can tell by the look on Kyle’s face that the grin probably comes off as a little bit wild.

“Well I guess congratulations are in order then, huh?” he claps Marquette on the shoulder a little bit harder than necessary and the man stumbles. “Excuse me boys. Gotta see a man about a horse, if you know what I mean.” He winks at Marquette, nods to Kyle—who looks at him curiously, knowing something is up—and heads toward the bathroom.

The second he gets into the stall, he leans against the wall to catch his breath and calm himself down. He whips out his phone and types a warning to Michael, hitting send just as the bathroom door opens and he hears the lock click. He’s got a hand on his gun immediately because he wouldn’t put it past Marquette to send someone in after him.

“Miles.” It’s Kyle and Miles takes his hand from his gun. “Miles,” he says again, hissing out his name.

Miles flicks open the lock and the stall door swings open. “Yeah, what’s up?” he says, going for casual and missing by a mile.

“What the hell was _that_?” Kyle asks, almost under his breath like he’s worried someone will hear.

“Kyle I don’t—“

“You’re my best friend, Miles. I know something’s going on with you. I know that you know something about Marquette and the Fakes and I don’t know _why_ you won’t tell me.”

Miles runs a hand through his hair. “I’m trying to keep you safe,” he says.

“I’m a fucking grown up, Miles. I don’t need you to keep me safe!” Kyle shoots back. He doesn’t look _angry_ , but Miles can tell that all the secrets are weighing on him.

“Marquette—he’s _dirty_ , Kyle. He’s been on one person or another’s payroll for as long has he’s been on the force, basically.” Kyle nods like it makes sense and his face hardens in a way that makes Miles hold up his hands and backtrack. “We can _not_ go after him Kyle. I know what you’re thinking but we can’t do that.”

“Why not?” Kyle demands. “If he’s dirty there’s gotta be evidence—“

“They will _kill you_ , Kyle. If you go after Marquette, either he or one of his goons or the guy he works for. They will make you dead.”

“Who does he work for?” Miles hesitates and Kyle picks up on it right away. “No. No more secrets, Miles. You’re my best friend and my partner.”

“Andrew Larkin.”

“ _What_?”

“He’s—he’s got a whole network. He looks clean on the surface but he’s a fucking piece of shit,” Miles says. “All the human trafficking rings, the thing with Fakehaus? That was him! He’s been setting up gangs for months now.”

Kyle leans on the sink, his head hanging. “What the _fuck_. How do you know all this?”

Miles sighs, runs his hand through his hair. “Kyle—“

“Miles, please.” Kyle sounds so _tired_ and it makes Miles feel like shit.

“I know someone from the Fakes. I’ve—I’ve been seeing him for a couple weeks.”

“ _Seeing him_ as in, someone from the Fake AH Crew is the one who gave you all the hickies?” Kyle asks, incredulous. “Someone who works for Geoff Ramsey is The Octopus? Holy shit, is _Ramsey_ The Octopus?”

Miles thinks for a second. “Yes. I mean no! God, you asked me too many questions at once! Fuck, in the order than you asked them, yes, yes, and no.” He grins sheepishly at Kyle who does _not_ look amused.

“Holy shit, Miles. This is—this is all sorts of fucked up, you know that right?” Kyle waves an arm at Miles’ whole body in a very ‘what the actual fuck’ kind of way.

“Yeah, I know.” Miles tries to put on his sorriest face, but Kyle is not fazed in the slightest.

“You could lose your _job_ if this gets out. Hell, you could get arrested for obstruction! Tell me you didn’t come in here to text him,” Kyle demands.

“I didn’t come in here to text him?” Miles says in the least convincing tone as he shrugs his shoulders.

“God _damnit_ , Miles.”

“See!” says Miles, pointing his finger at Kyle. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you. I don’t want you to get involved in this, Kyle. You’re a good cop and you don’t need the stress of this on your back.”

“This is exactly why you should have told me from the fucking start, Miles!” Kyle says, voice dropping dangerously. “Not that I think I could have ever talked you out of whatever the fuck you’ve gotten yourself into, but I could have tried! And what the fuck about your back? No fucking wonder you’ve been so goddamn weird lately!” Kyle’s voice is raising and he starts pacing back and forth. “Like, you’ve looked like _shit_ the past couple weeks but I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings!”

Miles can feel his face splitting into a grin. “Kyle—“ he starts.

“I can tell when you’re not sleeping dude.” Kyle says, talking over him, eyes barely flicking over his body.

“Kyle…”

“You must be so stressed even _with_ getting laid. And—AND you’ve been trying to keep me from getting my dumb ass in trouble!” Kyle goes on.

“KYLE!” Miles says, grabbing his shoulders.

Kyle finally stops pacing and stares at Miles. “What?!”

“I’m _fine_. Shit is _just_ hitting the fan now,” Miles says, still grinning. “I’m sorry I made you worry, you big softie.”

“You’re my best friend,” says Kyle fiercely. “I’m with—“

Miles covers Kyle’s mouth with his hand and groans. “Don’t fucking quote Captain America at me, I swear to God.”

“Whatever you say, Bucky,” Kyle says, grinning when Miles removes his hand.

“Are you trying to say that I’m as good looking as Sebastian Stan?” Miles asks, hand on his chest.

“No,” Kyle shoots back. “I’m saying I’ve got the abs to pull off Chris Evans.”

“You’re the worst,” Miles says. His phone goes off in his pocket and he grabs it out, fumbling just a little. It’s a text from Michael and all it says is _Thank you_.

“That from your boy?” Kyle asks.

“Yeah. I think they got out,” Miles says, distracted. He types a new reply hastily.

_< Let me know if there’s anything you need or just keep me updated if you can. let me know if you’re all right_

>> LSPD showed right as we all got out. not being followed. going to safe house

_< i’ll do my best to keep you updated on my end and give you more heads up if I can_

“They’re good,” he says, sighing. “Thank God.”

“I’ll reiterate my previous statement from before you distracted me with Chris Evans’ abs,” Kyle says. “This is _all_ sorts of fucked up.”

“Yeah,” Miles says. His phone goes off again.

>> be safe

_< you too._

“What are we going to do?” Kyle asks suddenly. “I’ve never—I’m not sure what the fuck to do next. This isn’t a situation I ever thought I would be in.”

“That fucking makes two of us,” Miles says. He stares at his reflection in the mirror and takes in the bags under his eyes. Kyle was right. He does look like shit. He wishes that a parallel universe Miles would come through and tell him how to go on from here. His phone buzzes.

>> I mean it miles if I find out you got yourself killed im gonna kill you again myself

_< wow it’s so nice to know you care_

>> you know I do

_< yeah. _

_< I do._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MAN GUYS. what will happen next?????
> 
> find me on tumblr @thilesluna to yell at me for writing so slow. i crave pressure.


	8. It Smells Kind of Like Poo Hitting The Fan in Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles is actually a good cop which shocks Kyle. Michael has to face the crew at their new safe house.

Miles and Kyle work quickly after a much needed and fairly intense bro-hug. They do their best to stay under the radar while they run checks on Larkin, his businesses, and all the records of full gangs being taken out in the last year. The thing that sucks is they have _no_ way of knowing who is involved and sitting happy in Larkin’s pocket. Kyle watches his back while Miles pulls personnel files on Marquette and his lackies. Everything they gather goes straight into Miles’ shitty messenger bag that he’s had since college but never goes anywhere without.

“Fuck, _fuck_ ,” Kyle keeps saying and Miles has to agree.

“I know buddy,” he replies. “Now shut the fuck up and help me find this file.”

It’s the last one he wants to grab before he splits from the station, relegated to watching over the crime scene from this morning as a ‘senior officer’, but he can’t find the damn thing anywhere. It’s a file from nearly eight years ago, a case that was one of the first he worked on—as crowd control, but he still worked on it—when he joined the LSPD.

“What do we even need that one for?” Kyle hisses, peeking around Miles’ desk to see if the goon Marquette left behind when they went to raid the penthouse is watching. He’s not, thankfully. He’s too busy flirting with one of the officers who is clearly not interested instead.

“It was something he said,” Miles mutters, almost to himself. “He said something before he left my place about how they thought Larkin had been in Los Santos _longer_ than they originally thought.”

“So?”

Miles swears under his breath when another search turns up empty. “It made me remember…”

Kyle sighs, starting to get impatient. “Remember _what_ , Miles? I’m getting real tired of all this cryptic bull—”

“AHA!” Miles interrupts. “Got it! Perfect. I’m just gonna hit _print_ and then we’re on our way!”

Kyle crosses to the printer and Miles can see the grumpy set in his shoulders as he puts on his jacket and grabs his keys. The second Kyle sees the printout, he freezes. “Are you _serious_ Miles?”

“Always, Kyle,” Miles says with a wry smile. “Get your coat. We’re gonna be late to relieve Marquis and Gibson and they’re gonna be pissed.”

\-----

“You’re shitting me right now, right?” Kyle demands as soon as they get into the car. Miles cranks the keys in the ignition and sighs.

“I’m not,” he says. “It makes sense! I’ve been thinking about it since he made that comment.” He really has, because it _does_ make sense in a way that almost makes his head spin.

Kyle squints at the papers again before tossing them dramatically onto the dashboard. “Miles, there’s no way—“

“You don’t know that!”

“And you don’t know that you’re right! This is fucking crazy!” Kyle shoots back.

“No,” Miles says, voice firm. “I have a gut feeling about this, Kyle. And it makes sense!”

“Are we talking about the same gut that convinced you to bang one of the members of the Fake AH Crew?” Kyle says and Miles has the decency to look slightly ashamed.

“Listen, this gut got you a date with that girl at the bar a couple months ago,” Miles protests.

Kyle rolls his eyes. “Yeah until her giant, beefy boyfriend showed up.”

“Um, yeah? And then you had a killer threesome with them? I do not see the point you’re trying to make here,” Miles laughs.

Kyle sighs and reaches for the packet of papers again. “I hate you.” The next few minutes of the car ride are relatively silent besides the rustling of papers while Kyle reads and the quiet tapping of Miles’ fingers on the steering wheel. “You really think this is Larkin?” Kyle asks and Miles shoots him a withering look.

“I do. Think about it, Kyle. Really fucking think and you’ll see it.”

Eight years ago, before Fakehaus, before CRWBY, before the Fake AH Crew, there was another gang terrorizing Los Santos. Miles remembers coming into the LSPD and immediately going to work for Hullum who was heading up the case on what was being called the “worst gang activity in Los Santos history”. The crew, very aptly named The Warlords, were a bunch of serious lowlifes. They were interested in making money any way the could and didn’t care who got in the way. They were known for plucking runaways off the streets and selling them, hunting down LSPD members for sport, and causing the absolute _most_ damage they could.

But back then, the LSPD was way more dedicated than they are now and they were closing in on The Warlords. Everyone in the city knew that it was a matter of time and that one way or another, they were going down. The LSPD’s big break came when an anonymous tipster gave them a location of a drug deal that was going down on the south side of the city. The caller gave no name, only stating that he was “close” to the crew, which was good enough for Hullum and the Chief.

Miles remembers grabbing his vest to go on the raid but being stopped by a hand on his shoulder. It was Hullum, of course. The guy cared too much for his own good. Miles could see the way Hullum looked at him, all fresh-faced, right from the Academy and he didn’t so much _order_ Miles to stay back, but made it very clear that he wasn’t to attend.

Miles was upset but didn’t complain.

In the end, 23 police officers died in the ensuing shootout and another 12 were wounded, Hullum among them. Miles asked to be on the detail stationed outside of his door.

The aftermath of the raid was confusing and full of endless paperwork but there was a glaring hole in some of the information. The main crew of The Warlords was known to be seven people but only six were accounted for. The seventh person had disappeared.

Hullum, in a drug-induced state, had told Miles that he thought the seventh was the mystery tipper, but the Chief wasn’t going to keep looking for him.

“He must of just, gone clean for a while,” Miles says as Kyle continues to scan through the files. “I mean it fits. The stuff that’s going down? That’s the kind of stuff The Warlords used to do and they were damn good at it. Larkin must have—he must have just taken the money and started over. There was a shit ton of money that was never accounted for. The forensic accountants found enough that the higher ups were happy but they never found it all.”

“He took the money,” Kyle says slowly, “and bought himself a new life?”

Miles shrugs. “You have enough money you can do just about anything, buddy. All he needed was a new ID, new papers proving who he was and he was home free.”

Silence stretches through the car as Kyle processes. “When—How did you put all this together?”

“I’m a good fucking cop, asshole,” Miles says, grinning. “I’m not just a pretty face, you know.”

“Huh,” Kyle mumbles. “Guess not.” He shuffles the papers again and then freezes. “Wait. Oh my god. Didn’t—didn’t Michael _Jones_ come in looking for you a few weeks ago. Wanted to talk to the ‘one with the pretty eyes’?”

“Where the hell did you hear that?” Miles demands, face flushing.

“Coe and I watch baseball together. Miles are you—is it _Jones_ you’re fucking?” Kyle asks.

“Kyle.”

“Holy shit, it is. You’re fucking _Mogar_. Oh my god,” Kyle says, laughing. “That explains the fucking bruises I guess.”

“Fuck off. Rule One of the car, dude,” Miles says as he pulls a tattered piece of paper from under the visor and shoves it in Kyle’s face. “This car is like Planet Fitness which means it’s a Judgment Free Zone.”

“I’m adding a new rule,” Kyle says. He pulls a pen from his pocket and scribbles something at the bottom of the paper.

“What—“

Kyle grins and finishes the new rule with a flourish. “Rule Eleven: No fucking criminals in the car.”

“I hate you,” Miles says, snatching the paper back and tucking it under the visor again. “I really hate you.” Kyle just laughs. They drive for a few more minutes before Miles swings suddenly into the parking lot of a convenience store.

“What are you doing?”

Miles throws the car in park and turns to face Kyle. “Okay, the way I see it, we have three options.”

“Okay…”

“One, we call the FBI.”

“How is that not the _only_ option, Miles?” Kyle asks.

Miles runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “Here’s the thing. The FBI aren’t just going to be like ‘Cool story bros, we’ll get right on this!’ They’re going to need proof, which we don’t have yet, and they’re going to need to know _where_ we got our information. I don’t know about you, but I don’t really want to call them up and then tell them our theory is based on my gut feelings and the information from the highly dangerous criminal I’m fucking.”

Kyle buries his face in his hands. “Okay. I guess that makes sense.”

“On _top_ of that,” Miles goes on, “I have no idea how far Larkin’s money goes.”

Kyle looks up at that. “You think he’s got guys inside the FBI?”

“Money goes a _long_ way, Kyle.”

“So what’s the next option?”

“Option Two,” Miles says, “is that we keep working the case on our own. We’re heading to the scene right now and there’s bound to be some stuff that the teams missed because everyone thinks its such an open and shut case.”

Kyle looks at the meager stack of files in his hand. “The problem being, we have jack shit really.”

“Exactly.”

He sighs. “So, am I gonna hate Option Three?”

Miles shrugs. “Maybe? Option Three is that we ask for help.”

“From who?” Miles hesitates and Kyle groans. “Seriously, Miles?”

“They know a lot about him! They’ve been keeping tabs on him for weeks and weeks!”

“You want to ask the FAHC to help us investigate?” Kyle asks, incredulous.

Miles frowns. “Not really _investigate_ but like, maybe just give us their information? I know it sounds nuts—“

“Realistically, it’s our best option though,” Kyle says.

“What?”

“If you think about our other options, which range from shit-out-of-luck to potentially-getting-arrested-by-dirty-FBI-agents, Option Three is the clear winner,” he goes on. “I don’t like it and it’s gonna be a total shit show, but it’s the best we’ve got.”

Miles grins at him, reaches over and claps a hand on his shoulder. “You’re a really good friend, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Kyle says, failing to hold back a smile. “You can fawn over me later.”

“Wait here,” Miles laughs. “I’ll be right back.” The convenience store is empty except for the bored looking 20-something behind the counter. Miles grabs a few snacks, a Red Bull for himself, and a burner phone off the rack by the register. He smiled at the clerk while she rang him out but only got an apathetic look in response as she told him his total, voice monotone and full of barely covered distain. He pays and then speed walks back to the car, throwing the snacks at Kyle. He cracks his knuckles and sets to work on the package for the phone.

“What’s that?”

Miles looks up from where he’s _almost_ got the plastic open. “Huh?”

“Why do you have a disposable cell phone?” Kyle clarifies.

“I need it to contact Michael. I can’t really keep using my own phone, can I?”

Kyle stares at him and then snatches the phone from Miles’ hand. “How are you so calm about all of this? And you really need to call your boyfriend right now?”

“He’s not—I mean I don’t exactly know _what_ we—you know what? Fuck off. It’s not a social call. It’s about the case,” Miles sputters. Kyle raises an eyebrow—a perfect, skeptical eyebrow. “Okay so like, I want to talk to him but it’s _mostly_ about the case thing.”

Kyle scoffs but hands him the phone back. “You’re fucking _smitten_ dude. I’ve seen you like this before.”

“Shut—Just shut up,” Miles says, face flushing. Kyle grins at him and pokes his cheek.

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” he laughs.

“Fuck you and fuck your Shakespeare bullshit,” Miles shoots back, slapping Kyle’s hand away. He grabs his own phone and punches in Michael’s number. He looks up at Kyle before hitting send. “Now we just have to hope the rest of the FAHC trusts Michael enough to trust me.”

Kyle whistles. “We’re fucked, huh.”

\-------

To say the ride to the safe house has been _strained_ would be a gross understatement. Probably contender for understatement of the goddamned year.

Gavin and Jeremy keep shooting Michael betrayed, hurt looks and it’s driving him mental. He wants to yell at them, force them to knock it the fuck off, but he knows he did this to himself and has less than a full leg to stand on at the moment. The betrayed looks sting and Michael actually finds himself feeling better about the levels of unbridled _rage_ coming off Ryan in waves. The air around him almost seems electrically charged and that, Michael can deal with.

The worst is Jack and Geoff. They’re mad, sure, but the bitter knife that is their disappointment in him cuts him practically to the core. The van they’re in _stinks_ with it and Michael feels like he’s going to hurl.

By the time they get to their destination, it takes all that he has not to leap out of the door before the van even stops moving. God, he fucked up. He fucked up _big time_.

And yet, he thinks, if it wasn’t for his fuck up? They would all be in jail. Or dead.

He waits for the rest of the crew to get out before he does, counting seconds between when Jeremy steps out of the door and when he starts to move, wanting to space himself out as much as possible.

It turns out that all the spacing in the world wasn’t going to make a god damn difference when Ryan slams him up against the side of the van. “What the _fuck_ were you thinking?” he demands, breath hot on Michael’s face.

Michael, to his credit, doesn’t react. He steels his features and looks Ryan dead in the eye. “I wasn’t, okay? I was being a fucking idiot and I wasn’t thinking.”

Jack walks over slowly, resting a hand on Ryan’s arm. “Ryan—“

“No,” he snarls, “I want a real fucking answer as to why he thought putting us all in danger was worth a good _fuck_.” Jack grips his arm tighter, pulls until he finally turns to face her.

“We’ll get answers,” she says. “We’ll get them when we get inside and we get settled. Everyone is fucked up right now. Our emotions are all over the place.” She rests a hand on his cheek and he breaths in deeply. “Go inside,” she says softly but in a way that makes it clear that it’s _not_ a suggestion. His hands release the front of Michael’s shirt like it’s burning him and Michael crumples to the ground, back against the dirty wheel of the van.

He brings his knees up to his chest and rubs at his eyes with the palms of his hands.

“Michael.”

He looks up and sees Gavin with his hand outstretched, reaching to help him up. He wants to _cry_.

Instead, he grabs Gavin’s hand and lets his friend haul him to his feet. “Thanks, Gavvy.” Gavin smiles, a small thing, but Michael appreciates it all the same. “Guess it’s time to face the firing squad, huh?”

“I’m like 80% sure Ryan won’t _really_ kill you,” Gavin says, clapping Michael on the shoulder. “20% s’not bad odds when you think about our line of work.”

“Can’t fucking wait.”

\------

“You guys have no reason to listen to what I’m gonna say. You have no reason to believe me. You have _every_ right to be pissed off and even—I mean, I would get it if you _hate_ me,” Michael says, standing in front of the television in the living room.

“Michael—“ Jeremy starts.

“Just…just let me talk, okay?” Michael interrupts. “You guys are my family and I’m so fucking _sorry_ that this happened. I’m sorry that I lied to you and that I went behind your backs.” He looks at his crew, from one face to the next and swallows around a lump in his throat, ignoring the way his stomach feels like it’s in knots. “I—I’m not really sure how this even happened. It’s—I mean it was supposed to be a one off thing, you know? It was supposed to be ‘Michael fucks the hot cop and then never sees him again’.”

“What the fuck happened, then?” Geoff asks. It doesn’t sound angry, just tired. Michael’s not sure which is worse.

“It’s only been a couple _weeks_ , Michael,” Jeremy says. “We got arrested and then, what? You started seeing him?”

Michael runs a hand through his hair and almost wants to laugh. He’s been doing that so much lately that he’s sure he’ll go bald by 30. “I fucking caught feelings,” he says bitterly. “I didn’t—I mean, it was _not_ on purpose and I don’t really get it. I _honestly_ don’t.”

“So the feelings you caught and the happiness of your _dick_ were worth putting all of us in _danger_?” Ryan’s voice is harsh, harsher than it’s been since he first joined up, before they laughed at him for flubbing words and collecting kittens from alleys.

“No—I—I would _never_ put you guys in danger,” Michael says. He needs them to understand. They’re his _family_. “It was like I had something that was just _mine_ and I didn’t want to give it up. It was too good. Mi—He’s just so good and I—“ he flounders for a moment. “We’re not the good guys. We will never be the good guys but sometimes with Miles I didn’t feel like a bad guy, you know? It was nice but I never, _ever_ did anything to jeopardize any of you. We—I stayed at his place or we went out to neutral territory.”

“So what you’re saying,” Lindsay interjects, “is that whatever’s going on isn’t just a fuck and fly kind of deal anymore?”

“I don’t know what the fuck we were planning on doing, but I was gonna see him again,” Michael says.

“You’re fucking _stupid_ ,” Ryan spits. “So fucking stupid, Michael.”

Gavin twists to face him. “Hey!”

“Gav it’s fine—“

“What the fuck are you going to do when your cop’s got Geoff or Jeremy or Jack pinned down in an alley after a heist? What are you going to do when you’re staring down the barrel of his fucking glock?” Ryan’s voice goes pitched and nasally.“‘ _I thought me sucking your dick meant something, Miles_ ’. God, this is super fucked.” He stands then, stalks over to Michael, stooping slightly to point a finger in his face. “This guy is a _cop_. He’s going to pick the law over us every time. He’s gonna pull the fucking trigger because it’s his _job_. You brought this on us.”

“Fuck you,” Michael says, drawing himself up as tall as he can as he smacks Ryan’s hand away. “If it wasn’t for him we’d all be in LSPD custody right now, you prick. Or did you forget that? The police choppers surrounding the penthouse as we left must have been a fluke.” He’s angry that Ryan thinks he doesn’t _care_. “They went through Fakehaus’s setup with heavy guns and armor and what felt like a ‘no survivors’ kind of vibe. Larkin is a fucked up guy. He wouldn’t fucking hesitate to burn our world down around us…while we’re inside. He _already_ fucking picked us over the law.”

It’s another minute before he speaks again. “He could have just _not_ told us. He could have kicked me out of his apartment when he got the call and we’d be a fucking step behind Larkin. Again. Hell, he could have just taken the ‘evidence’ and the orders to "arrest on sight" to heart and dragged my half-naked ass down to the precinct. But he didn’t.” Michael looks around at all of them. “He could have told _me_ to clear out, just me. You wanna know what he said?”

Ryan slumps against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, chin jutting out in challenge. The rest of the crew look up at him from the couches and chairs, eyes weary.

“He said that if it came down to it, he’d go after Larkin himself. He told me to get you guys together and get somewhere _safe_. It’s not just about me and him. It’s about all of us, all the people Larkin’s been fucking for _years_. I tried to convince him to let us handle our own shit and he—he,” Michael takes a deep breath, his head swirling with Miles’ words, ones he can hear just as clearly as he did with his head pressed against the detective’s chest. “He said, “It’s my _job_ to keep Los Santos safe. It’s my job to protect people, even the ones who could probably blow me up with a rocket launcher. I don’t give a shit about jurisdiction or any of that. I’m keeping _you_ safe. You _and_ your crew.”

The house falls into silence, the only sound is Michael’s heavy breathing and Jeremy shifting awkwardly in his chair.

It’s also precisely when Michael’s phone starts to go off. Seven pairs of eyes snap to his jacket pocket. He draws the phone carefully, brows furrowing when he’s not a number he recognizes. He glances at Lindsay and she nods. His thumb brushes over accept and he hold the phone up to his ear.

“Hello?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So who do you think is on the line? Is it Miles? Is it Larkin? IS IT THE AMERICAN RED CROSS STILL LOOKING FOR GODDMANED DONATIONS??????
> 
> Also, I'm thinking 2-3 more chapters to wrap this shit up!


	9. Meet and Greet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is 40% feels and 60% setting the shit up for the end!!!!

“I got a ping on your phone,” Matt Bragg says.

“Hi, Matt,” Michael says, voice dripping with sarcasm. Some of the tension in the room dissipates. Michael watches Gavin’s body sink into the couch cushions, body practically pressed up against Jeremy. “Nice to hear from you.” He pops the phone on speaker.

Matt sighs heavily. “Whatever. I got a ping on your phone,” he repeats.

“I don’t know what that means,” Michael says. He looks at Geoff for confirmation and Geoff just shrugs.

“Well, dumbass,” Matt says slowly. Like he’s speaking to a child because he’s a fucking prick. “When we go into emergency lock down—like we are _now_ —I track the activity on our tech, including phones. Jesus, don’t you fuckers read the memos I send you?”

“I stopped reading them after three in a row were just pictures of crudely drawn dicks,” Jeremy says as he throws an arm over the back of the couch—and behind Gavin’s shoulders. Michael _almost_ says something before he realizes it’s not really the time or place.

Matt laughs and it trails off in another sigh, happy this time. “Yeah, that was good times. Trevor helped me draw those. He’s surprisingly artistic. Or he is at least when it comes to dicks.” Gavin opens his mouth to make a comment, most likely about Trevor’s familiarity with dicks but Geoff holds out a hand and Gavin deflates back against the couch.

“Is there a reason you’re calling us, Matt?” he interrupts.

“Oh yeah,” Matt says, voice all business again. Michael rolls his eyes, probably fondly. He’s undecided as of yet. “So in lockdown, I monitor all the incoming and outgoing stuff _on_ our stuff. Michael’s phone pinged on an unknown number so I rerouted it to a dummy voicemail box in case someone was trying to be fancy and get a trace.”

“Huh,” Michael says. “You can do that?”

“It was a burner phone,” Matt continues on like Michael hasn’t said anything. “They left a message in the box though. You wanna hear it?”

“Uh, sure. I guess?”

The sound of typing comes over the speaker for a moment and then there’s a soft _beep_. Michael’s mouth runs dry when Miles’ voice comes crackling over the line. “Uh, hi, um so this is—it’s a little unconventional but we—my partner Kyle and I—we need your help? Like not just _you_ but like the Fakes? We—we found something that has the potential to break the case wide open _and_ clear you guys from the set up. It’s about Larkin and where he—“ Miles breaks off to say something to someone else before he comes back on the line. “Where he came from. The only thing is we need more information about him _now_ and you guys are our best shot. If you could, um, maybe call me back? If not that’s fine I mean I get it you guys are probably on the run and like do—“ the recording cuts off.

“Where’s the rest of it?” Michael asks, doing his best to keep his voice even. He might have been holding his breath the whole time Miles was talking.

“There’s only so much room for a voicemail, Michael. The fucker talked for too long,” Matt says impatiently.

“Your boyfriend’s a talker,” Ryan says flatly. Michael flinches, so used to Ryan’s joking tone and teasing lilt and hearing neither.

“Uh, boyfriend?” Matt asks, clearly interested in the development. “Whose boyfriend?”

“No one,” Jack says impatiently. “Did you get the number down?” Michael and Ryan turn to look at her and she glares back. “What? We’re going to ignore this? If he’s got—“

“He’s a _cop_ ,” Ryan says angrily. “Jack you can’t seriously be—“

“Ryan,” Geoff cuts in. “I get that you’re pissed off but if this is going to solve this mess quickly—“

“I can’t fucking _believe_ this.” Ryan slams his fist into the wall and Michael jumps.

“I’m gonna…I’ll text you the number,” Matt says carefully, and the line going dead. Michael’s phone buzzes a moment later.

“I’m kind of with Ryan on this one,” Gavin says. “What do we know about this guy? How can we be sure that it’s not a sting and half of the LSPD are gonna be there waiting?”

It hurts, the mistrust. It’s not unexpected but it still sucks. “Gav—“ Michael starts.

Geoff holds up a hand and Michael’s mouth snaps shut. “Listen, I’m not going to ask anyone to go if they don’t want to. I understand that this isn’t the best or even third best plan, but I’m pissed off and tired and I wanna bring this Larkin prick to his fucking knees.”

“ _Unbelievable_ ,” Ryan spits. “You’re serious Geoff? You think this is actually something we should do? Go to the _cops_?”

“Not the cops,” Lindsay says. “Just one. One that has just as much to lose as we do.”

Ryan scoffs. “I doubt that,” he says, coolly. “Getting fired for fucking a criminal isn’t even close to what we could lose.”

Lindsay’s eyes harden and the tension in the room skyrockets again. Michael feels like he’s drowning in it, like the air is too thick to breath properly. “You’re too fucking angry to really think about what he did means, aren’t you?” Ryan swallows but crosses his arms defensively once again. The rest of them are staring at Lindsay, the echoes of power radiating from her a reminder of who she _really_ is in this crew. “If Larkin has _half_ the guys inside the police that we think he does, Luna put a huge fucking target on his back for us.”

“What?” Michael asks, voice weak. “What do you mean?”

“You’re all so wrapped up in being emotional about everything that none of you _thought_.”

Geoff rubs his hands over his face. “Linds, just _tell us_ ,” he says.

“Someone is going to notice that Luna helped us,” Lindsay explains. “We joke that the LSPD is full of fucking morons but when properly motivated, even morons can get stuff done. If Luna really is a _good_ cop they’ve probably already had eyes on him, been watching him for cracks to exploit and ways to turn him. They’re going to notice that we just happened to clear out from the penthouse right before the bust that was all over the station.”

The room is silent for a long stretch of time, Michael quietly panicking while everyone takes in what Lindsay said.

Jeremy breaks the silence. “Fuck,” he breathes, nearly all the air in his lungs leaving on the exclamation. “You really think they’d go after him?”

“If they’re confident enough to make a move on us, come after us in broad daylight,” Geoff says carefully, “there’s not a thing stopping them from discreetly taking out one of their own. There’s so many easy ways to do it really. Friendly fire, car accident—“

Michael makes a noise in the back of his throat, interrupting Geoff. “I’ll go alone,” Michael says. “I’ll meet up with him and if it’s a sting I’ll be the one who gets got. I should be the only one risking this and if Lindsay’s right, if he’s really—”

“I’ll go with you,” Jeremy pipes in, offering Michael a small smile. “I’ll be your backup.”

Gavin sputters at that. “Jeremy, _neither_ of you should be going.“

“We could use the info he’s got,” Geoff says, looking carefully at Michael.

“ _Geoff_ ,” Ryan protests, hands in fists at his sides. Gavin looks distraught and Michael feels like shit.

“I’m gonna—“ he holds up his phone in the direction of the sliding glass door that leads to the backyard. Geoff nods and Michael leaves to make his call.

The night air is cool, a welcome, refreshing feeling after being in the house where the pressure and body heat were making the temperature nearly unbearable. Michael takes a moment to calm his breathing and will away the shaking of his hands. He pulls open the text from Matt. There’s one that’s just the number and another that says _what the fuck did you do, jones?_ because Matt has never been one to pull punches, even when he was brand new and still on his trial run. His first week he fucked with all of Gavin’s fancy, expensive technology so the only thing it would play was audio from bad porn.

He clicks the number and the phone pops into the call almost immediately. He paces back and forth as the ringing echoes in his ear. There’s a click and then, “Michael?”

The knot sitting in Michael’s gut releases and he gasps out, “Miles.”

Miles’ words are all rushed and panicked. “Are you okay? Michael? You sound like—“

“I’m fine. I’m good,” Michael says, waving his free hand even though Miles can’t see it. “Are you—are you somewhere safe?”

“Me?” Miles asks. “I’m at the crime scene. I’m checking for anything the techs missed that can help us. I’m _fine_. I should be asking you if you’re—“

“Miles,” Michael interjects. “Miles if they figure out that you tipped us off, they’re going to come after you.” The line goes quiet, the only thing Michael hears are Miles’ steady breaths. It’s weird that they make him feel better.

“I’ll be okay,” Miles says finally. “I’ve got Kyle with me. We’ll be fine.” They lapse into silence again for a moment. Miles clears his throat and says, “I’m assuming you’re not making a social call right? You guys—do we want to trade information?”

Michael kicks a rock off the cement patio. “Yeah. Geoff thinks it’s the best plan. Where do you—“

“Michael are you okay?” Miles asks again and something cracks in Michael’s chest.

“Everyone is so fucking angry with me,” he says quietly. “Angry and disappointed and I fucked up, Miles. Big time.”

Miles makes an anxious sound at the defeated tone in Michael’s voice. “It’s not just on you, Michael. However this happened and whatever’s going to happen because of it is on _both_ of us. I’m so sorry.”

“My crew—they’re more than my crew you know?” Michael says, swallowing thickly. “The _look_ Geoff gave me…”

“We both fucked up, Michael but I will tell you something,” Miles says, voice getting stronger by the word. “I don’t regret it. Not at all.”

“Miles—“

“I don’t. I know that this is like a shitty movie about star-crossed lovers but I don’t regret any of the time I’ve had with you and I don’t regret getting you guys out of the penthouse even if they come for me.”

“Don’t—don’t say that,” Michael spits out.

“That I don’t regret it?”

Michael growls, a frustrated sound. “No that they’re coming after you. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I don’t want you to either,” Miles insists. He hesitates, the empty space sitting heavily between them though the phone. When Miles speaks again, his voice is a little softer, a little more unsure. “Do you regret it?”

“No,” Michael says immediately. If he’s sure of anything at the moment, it’s that he doesn’t regret a thing about Miles.

He can practically hear the grin on Miles’ face and he rolls his eyes fondly. “Good. That’s—I’m glad.”

Michael wraps the call up quickly after that, getting a meeting place from Miles and a time to be there. He takes another breath of the cool air before stepping back inside. Everyone is still in the living room except for Ryan, Jeremy, and Gavin. Michael looks around only for Jack to say, “Ryan got pissed off and left.”

Michael wilts. “Oh, okay.” If he’s being honest, he’s getting really sick and tired of the awkward silences that keep falling over the people around him. “Jeremy and Gavin?”

“In Gavin’s room,” Lindsay says with a shrug. “If we have to pull a silver lining out of this literal shitstorm, I think they might actually get together after all of this.” Geoff snorts.

Michael smiles but schools his features when he turns to the crew leader. “So I’ve got the details for the meeting.”

Geoff takes a swig from the glass of booze he’s mysteriously procured. “Good,” he sighs. “You and Lil J will go while we figure out a plan for our next move.”

“Got it, boss.”

“Now go get some sleep before you go out. You look like shit and like you need a fucking nap.”

“Geoff—“ He raises an unimpressed eyebrow and Michael feels like a teenager again. “Fucking _fine_.”

“And no sexting! I don’t want to subject Matt Bragg to that since he’s still gotta go through all our incoming and outgoing!”

“Fuck you, Geoff,” Michael says, but he can’t help grinning just a little.

\-----

The crime scene is a total fucking bust. The whole place looks like it’s been bombed out, explosive residue everywhere even though the “evidence” against the FAHC was all in pretty near perfect condition. Miles kicks at the scorched doorframe. “They blew it so there wouldn’t be any evidence except what they _wanted_ us to find.”

Kyle sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Well, shit. So we basically just have to kill time until the meeting since there’s nothing here?"

"Pretty much." Miles thinks about leaning up against the wall before he reconsiders. Getting soot and ash out of his suit jacket would be a total pain in the ass. The only noise is the faint sound of the CSI crew looking for more evidence that _isn’t_ there. Most of the heavy lifting was done soon after the fake bust. Miles looks over to where Kyle is lifting a piece of what used to be a table with his shoe. Miles can’t stop thinking about what Michael said about him being in danger. The thought had literally never crossed his mind. He was focused on getting them out and getting Michael safe that he wasn’t thinking about anything else. He wasn’t lying when he told Michael he didn’t regret _anything_ and that includes putting himself at risk for tipping them off but the more he thinks about Kyle—his best friend—being involved the more he wants to tell Kyle to forget the whole thing

Miles shuffles his feet awkwardly. "You should—Kyle you shouldn't be involved with this." Kyle’s head snaps up from where he was staring at the silhouette of something on the wall left from the explosion.

"Don't be a fucking idiot,” he says, rolling his eyes at Miles.

"I’m serious. I'm already on Marquette's radar and if they aren't already, they're going to be watching me. They might already know I texted Michael." He wants to get it through Kyle’s thick skull that this is _dangerous_.

"All I'm hearing is extra reasons why you fucking need me." Kyle looks wholly unimpressed with what Miles is trying to do here.

Miles’ head rolls back as he stares up at the ceiling, frustration growing. "Kyle—"

Something hits Miles’ chest and he looks down to see a black smudge on his tie. The piece of debris bounces once more on the ground. He raises his eyebrows at Kyle who just grins and says, "Shut the fuck up and tell me what to expect from this meeting."

\-------

Kyle and Miles are at the meeting spot before Michael. They do their best not to look suspicious while waiting in empty back street as the light bleeds from the city sky. “Are we early or is he late?” Miles asks nervously.

“We’re early. You’re always early, Miles.” Kyle looks calm but Miles can see the way he fidgets with the files in his hands and the way his feet don’t seem to be able to stay still.

“Punctuality is im—“ Miles starts, his voice suddenly drown out by the roar of a motorcycle. The bike is a chrome monstrosity, the over the top paint job catching the last rays of the sunset and glaring into Miles’ eyes. Two men swing off the back. Miles find himself holding his breath as the helmets come off and he sees Michael. Until right now, he wasn’t convinced that Michael was okay but he can see the pink of his cheeks where the faceguard was pressing into his skin and he watches with rapt attention when Michael’s hands brush through his hair to fix the flattened curls. Miles sucks in a breath.

Michael looks tired. His mouth is downturned at the corners and his skin looks a little bit too pale. Miles remembers the tone of his voice on the phone and his heart hurts for Michael. Miles presses his hands into the outside of his legs so he doesn’t do something embarrassing like reach out for him when he’s clearly too far away and it’s obviously not the time.

The other man is Dooley. If his short stature hadn’t given him away, the mop of green hair on top of his head did. They walk over to where Miles and Kyle are standing, stopping a car length from the two men. Miles can tell that Michael is giving him the same once over that he just did so he offers him a small smile that grows when Michael returns it.

He clears his throat awkwardly when the silence stretching between the four men becomes too much to handle. “So,” he says.

“So,” Michael says back. The silence stretches again, a hanging, tangible thing between both sides.

Miles hears Kyle sigh behind him. He smacks Miles on the arm with the collection of files. “Oh.” Miles jumps but it serves to kick start him into action. “Okay, so here’s the deal. Remember when you told me—you said that you guys thought Larkin had been around a lot longer than everyone has been assuming?”

Michael tilts his head at that but nods. “Yeah, something wasn’t adding up when Matt dug up information on him.”

“Do you remember like, eight years ago when there was that massive take down of the top crew in Los Santos?” Jeremy looks confused as Miles says it. “I think—it was before your time, Dooley. I mean, it was probably before Michael’s too but I was a beat cop at the time.”

“I remember,” Michael says. “The Warlords right? Geoff hates those motherfuckers. They’re all dead or in prison, right?”

“Not all of them,” Kyle interjects. “At least that’s our working theory.”

Michael stares at Miles. “You think—?”

Miles takes the papers from Kyle and holds them out, taking a step forward. “This is what the station had on that original case. It’s not much to go off but it’s enough and I’m like 200% sure that he’s a leftover from that gang.”

“200%” Jeremy says flatly, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms over his chest.

Miles glares at him. “Hyperbole aside, yes.”

Jeremy doesn’t look impressed but he takes the files from Michael as they both step forward. He flips through the papers, licking his thumb to turn the page. “Is this all of it?”

“There wasn’t much in the first place,” Miles says, shrugging. “It was open and shut. Too big of a win for the LSPD to worry about one missing guy and some missing money.”

“That would explain why Larkin’s background was always kind of hinky,” Jeremy muses. Kyle looks at Miles and mouths the word _Hinky?_ Miles ignores him.

“This is what we have.” Michael offers the thumb drive over. His hand brushes against Miles’ and Miles is loath to break the contact. Now that they’re closer, all he wants to do is pull Michael into his arms. “We’ve been watching him for a few months since that bust in June,” Michael goes on.

“Which bust?” Kyle asks.

Michael frowns. “The one where the LSPD got all the drugs that had been killing people? What the fuck was that shit called, Jeremy?”

“The one that made people rage out and like, literally burn up from the inside?”

“Yeah.” Michael snaps his fingers as he tries to remember.

“I remember that,” Kyle says suddenly. “ _Wrathhog_ , right?”

“That’s the stuff,” Michael nods. “The gang that got busted wasn’t with us but were one we were thinking of offering an affiliation to. They’d never been involved in stuff like that before and so we got interested in the case. That and we were getting credit in the press for stuff we didn’t fucking do.”

Miles doesn’t particularly want to let Michael out of his sight, but he knows they have to start wrapping up the meeting. Even having one in the first place was risky. He opens his mouth to speak when the ringing of a phone cuts him off. Michael wrestles the thing from his pocket and takes the call. “Hello? Whoa! Hold on, Linds. Slow down. What?”

Immediately, Miles can tell something is wrong. He knows Jeremy feels the same way because his whole body tenses and his face pales. He touches Michaels gently and says "Gavin?"

Michael’s eyes snap to Jeremy "Ryan."

" _What_?"

Michael looks to Miles and Kyle before he throws his phone on speaker and Miles knows, not even _knowing_ Tuggey that well that something about her voice is off. Kind of tight and worried but trying to keep calm.

"—call came in from his phone and Matt Bragg picked it up,” she’s saying.

"Because of the lockdown," Michael sighs.

"Exactly. So he knew what he was doing."

“Left a message with his last location and that he needed backup,” Lindsay says. “The call kept—Michael it kept going. He must have had it in his pocket. We could hear everything.”

Miles and Kyle stand still and silent, listening. Michael’s face clouds over. He looks angry and more worried than Miles has ever seen him.

“Lindsay,” Jeremy says softly. “What’s going on?”

There’s a brief silence over the phone and then they hear her take a deep breath. “They took him, Lil J. Larkin has Ryan.”


	10. The Penultimate One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the second to last chapter. Larkin has Ryan, Miles and Michael have reunited, Kyle and Jeremy are trying to be discreet in how much they're staring at the two of them together. This chapter features an off-screen stun baton, the disembodied voice of a fucking asshole, and a lot of melodramatic grown men.

Lindsay sends the recording and its just labored breathing and swearing until a voice comes over: _"Rapido pizza, can I take your order?"_

"He called a pizza shop?" Miles asks, unable to help himself.

"He hit redial last.” Lindsay doesn’t say anything about how it’s Miles that asked. Michael assumes she’s got too much on her mind as it is and the fact that he’s partly to blame for all of this hits him like a kick in the gut. God, his fuck-ups just keep piling up don’t they? “It didn't matter who he called as long as it got out to Matt. He was...occupied,” she explains.

Kyle flinches at the rush of semi-automatic fire coming over the line.

Ryan’s voice, tinny from the recording swells up over the gunshots. He doesn’t sound panicked or scared, but his voice is not the steady calm that Michael knows he gets on jobs. _"I need backup. Corner of 45th and Jefferson. They were—"_ there's a break and then more shots as the poor teenage pizza worker who picked up the phone valiantly tries to take Ryan's order. Something crosses Miles’ face; a rattled sort of thing and Michael looks at him curiously.

"That's where I live," he says quietly. “My apartment is on that corner.”

Ryan comes back on the line _"—went to check out the cop and they were there waiting. I'm not gonna be able to give ‘em the slip forever—"_ There's a crash and Ryan sucks in a harsh breath, mutters out _"Damnit,"_ not to anyone in particular. The noise goes scratchy and Michael realizes it’s the sound of a phone being shoved into a pocket. The pizza girl has given up and put him on hold to get a manager, which is fine because as long as the call is still connected, it’s recording.

What's not fine is the sudden punched out noise Ryan makes and the way his clothes are ruffling like he's being shaken.

"Stun gun," Jeremy says angrily and Michael kind of hates how all of them recognize the angry buzzing sound even over the phoneline.

"Fuck," says Kyle, sucking in a breath.

 _"Not the cop,"_ a gruff voice says, muffled by the fabric of Ryan's pocket. Miles gapes at the phone and Michael knows what he’s thinking.

“Fuck, they were there for me,” Miles whispers. “They were gonna kill me, weren’t they?” No one answers but then again, they don’t really need to.

Steps come closer to where Ryan is probably lying on the ground. Michael grits his teeth. _"Not the cop, but something much more interesting…and useful."_

Miles sucks in a breath and Kyle swears under his breath like they _know_ that voice.

 _"You're making a mistake,"_ Ryan says, edge to his voice that isn’t threatening as much as it’s like he’s stalling for time. Egging this guy on. Michael realizes that’s exactly what he’s doing. He’s getting the guy to talk to get them more information, make it easier to find him. He knows he’s not getting out of this.

_"I don't think I am. I think my boss is gonna be pretty damned happy about this. You Fake AH pricks were getting a little too cocky."_

_"Your boss, Larkin?"_ Ryan’s voice is steady when he spits out the name like an insult.

 _"So you're not just Ramsey's guard dog, then? Good to know you've got some brains under that freaky mask of yours."_ The guy laughs, a wheezing sort of laugh that makes Michael think of his piece of shit gym teacher from middle school. That guy spent his life making kids miserable and this guy is giving off the same sort of vibe.

“That’s motherfucking Marquette,” Kyle says, glancing from Jeremy to Michael. “Marquette was going to fucking kill Miles at his house.” He runs a hand through his hair as he starts to pace. “What the fuck.”

 _"Got a pretty face too,"_ Ryan sneers. _"Unlike some of us."_

The noise of the stun baton crackles loud over the phone and the last thing they hear before it cuts off in a pained scream, the electricity shorting out the phone.

"They were at my apartment. Why were they at my apartment? Why—Why were they going to—" Miles says and he’s definitely freaking out. Michael steps forward and takes his hand before he gets too worked up. Jeremy eyes Kyle who has moved to a squat in the middle of the street, breathing deeply.

"What the fuck do we do Linds?" Michael asks. He hates how unsure his voice sounds.

They don’t have a chance to find out what exactly Lindsay wants them to do because Miles’ phone rings, cutting through the night air like a siren. He jumps, releasing Michael’s hand and fumbling it from the pocket of his suit jacket with shaking hands.

It’s an unknown number but he picks it up with an unsure sounding "Hello?" Miles puts the phone on speaker so everyone can hear.

"You really shouldn't have gone snooping around _Detective_ ," and Michael doesn’t doesn't recognize the voice but there only one person it could be. He hands his phone to Jeremy, who holds it up so Lindsay can hear what’s going on.

"Larkin" Miles snarls and the prick _laughs_.

"You with your boyfriend?" Michael hates the way his heart jumps at the implication, even in the middle of all of this. It’s kind of fucked up.

"Fuck you, Larkin," he says, teeth clenched.

"Now, now Michael Jones. That's not polite," Larkin teases. Michael wants to strangle him. "I’ve got something that belongs to _you_ and _you've_ got something I want too."

Miles swallows. "What—"

"The files, Luna. The ones you took from the station."

Miles’ grip on the phone tightens as he glances at Michael. "What files—" he starts but Larkin cuts him off.

"Don't try to play dumb now, Luna.” Larkin’s voice is hard, a sharp juxposition to the sugar sweet tone from before. He slips back into it easily, though. “It was actually quite impressive the way you pieced it together and explained it to your partner."

Miles' eyes snap to Kyle whose face has gone white. "What? How did you—"

Larkin tsks at Miles under his breath. "When was the last time you two _really_ cleaned out your car?"

"You—you bugged our car?” Miles asks, incredulous. “W—Why?"

"It was Marquette's idea, honestly," and _goddamn_ does Michael hate the smug tone of his voice. "Said you were acting strange. 'Hullum's golden boy'." Larkin drops his voice to a stage whisper, "I think he's jealous of you, honestly." He clears his throats and continues on. "Oh well, he can't be a the favorite kid _and_ a dirty cop, right? You should be starting to understand that now that you're on your way to becoming one."

"You son of a—" Miles snarls.

Larkin voice takes on an appeasing tone that is almost worse. "Whoa there, Luna. I thought you were reasonable. It's why I called you and not your boyfriend." Miles looks to Michael. He looks so helpless and it tears into Michael’s heart. "That and I know the LSPD doesn't have tracking _half_ as good as the FAHC."

"So what, we give you the files and you give us The Vagabond?" Miles asks.

"That's about it,” Larkin says but then he makes a noise like he just thought of something. “Oh, wait, actually a couple more things. You give me the files, the Fakes get their precious Vagabond and then they get out of Los Santos for good, and you? You work for me. This is my city. It belongs to me. _You_ belong to me.”

"I won't work for you," Miles says, voice harsh. Michael takes his hand again and squeezes reassuringly. Becoming a dirty cop? Being forced to work for Larkin? Michael thinks that would fucking _break_ Miles.

"Yes, you will. You will do exactly what I want when I want it or a few of my friends will visit some of yours.” Larkin’s voice has shifted from teasing to something dangerous. “A Mr. Shawcross? Mr. Haddock? Maybe even a pit stop at the home of one, Rebecca Luna?"

Miles’ hand is like a vice grip on Michael’s and he’s _shaking_. "You're threatening my—"

"Those would be on _top_ of Mr. Jones. And of course, Detective Taylor, who will _also_ be working for me."

"Fuck you, Larkin," Michael says again. "You're a fucking prick."

Larkin laughs and Michael can feel the way Miles shivers at the sound. "You don't get where I am by being nice, Jones." Kyle picks up a piece of nearby trash, an old plastic container, and hurls it at the wall with a frustrated sound. Larkin, the bastard, makes a noise of delight. “I’ll be in contact with you soon. To iron out the details, so to speak. You should keep your phone handy, Luna. Oh, and please give Ramsey my regards.” The phone clicks, the call terminated.

“That mother _fucker_ ,” Jeremy says, handing Michael his phone back.

 

Lindsay clears her throat over the line and they all immediately snap to look at it. “Get your asses back to the safe house.” Michael starts to ask a question when she cuts him off. “And bring the cops with you,” she says before hanging up on them for the second time in less than a minute.

Kyle looks to Miles who’s still staring at the phone. “Time to meet the family, huh.”

Michael can’t help but notice the blush that rises in Miles’ cheeks and when he tells Kyle to fuck off, it doesn’t have that much heat behind it.

\-------------

The thing is, The Fakes really _are_ like Michael’s family. Despite what’s happening and what kind of fucked up situation they’re in, it feels sort of like bringing his new boyfriend home to meet his parents for the first time and Michael has a feeling it’s going to get…weird.

When they get to the safe house, the first thing he notices is that Geoff is not drinking any more. He has a reputation of being this alcoholic asshole that drinks whiskey while he’s robbing a bank but when real shit is going down, when it’s really important, Geoff refuses to touch any sort of alcohol. He’s drinking coffee from a mug that says _#1 Grandpa_ —a gag gift from Ray a million years ago that Gavin refused to let in the penthouse because it was “tacky as hell”—and talking softly with Lindsay.

Michael glances around the rest of the room and sees that Jack is keeping her calm but he can tell it's only on the surface. She's pacing around the living room and she keeps clenching her fists to stop her hands from shaking. Ryan is _hers_. The way they balance each other out is strangely perfect in all the ways it shouldn’t be. Michael watches the set of her jaw and realizes that the good news is she's more pissed off than anything. Pissed off at Larkin, probably pissed off at Ryan for going off on his own. Even before they were Jack  & Ryan, she was the one who got on his case about lone wolf tactics and really taught him how to be a part of a team.

Gavin goes to Jeremy's side instantly, whispering to him and shooting dirty looks at Miles and Kyle. Michael wants to yell at him but Lindsay beats him to it with a smack upside the head as she tells him to knock it off.

Miles? Miles is clearly terrified to be here but baring it fairly well. Kyle’s a step behind him, looking for all intents and purposes like a lost puppy about to be eaten by a pack of wolves. He’s gripping the police files tightly in his hands and Michael takes them from him carefully because they don’t need all the ink running because his hands are so sweaty.

When everyone is settled, or as settled as two police officers and a room full of gang members can be, Lindsay lays it all out. She’s already filled in Gavin, Geoff, and Jack while the other four were making their way over and she starts listing the plans they’d begun to come up with but Miles clears his throat loudly enough that all eyes turn to him.

He looks back at them all, open and honest and very scared, though Michael thinks it may not just be because of the crew. "Please let me just…bring him the files—I can't—I don't want anyone else to get hurt because of me. I just want you guys out of here safe."

"You can't do that," Michael says immediately, flabbergasted that Miles would even suggest it. Kyle makes a noise of agreement and a tense silence falls over the room as he looks around for support. Instead he gets:

"Why can't he?" Gavin asks and Michael turns to stare at him.

"Are you joking?"

Gavin’s face is flushed but his mouth is set in a hard line. "No! We give Larkin the files, get Ryan, and split town for a few weeks until we've got our shit together enough to come back at him and take him out." He looks to the other crewmembers, pointedly ignoring Michael’s indignant expression.

Miles looks down at the floor, his voice soft when he speaks. "He's not wrong, you know,” he says. “You'd have a better shot that way."

Michael wants to strangle him for the way he already sounds so defeated. "And what do you do in the mean time? Just answer to Larkin like a goddamn _dog_?"

"If it keeps everyone safe, yes." Miles won’t fucking _look_ at him and its killing Michael.

"That's bullshit and you know it,” he says, more harsh than he means to.

And then Miles does look at him and he’s not sure what’s fucking worse. Miles’ face is drawn, his lips turned set in a frown but his eyes are burning. "I don't _want_ to work for him. I don't want to turn into a dirty cop, but Michael I have no choice. I'm _not_ going to stand around and let _more_ people get hurt.”

Michael almost recoils from the anger in Miles’ voice even though it’s not even really directed at him. "And what about your partner? He has to go dirty too?" He’s fucking grasping at straws but he can’t let Miles do this. He won’t.

"No," Miles says, tone shifting to something a little more tired.

Kyle steps up, placing a hand on Miles’ shoulder to get him to turn his direction. His gaze is sharp. "What?"

"Kyle's gonna get out too—" Miles holds up his hand when Kyle tries to interrupt. "—just for a few weeks. Until the Fakes come back and clean it all up."

“Miles that’s not—“ Kyle starts, but Michael bowls over his words with his own.

"So you're going to go off and play the hero then?" Michael demands. "You're going to do this all alone?"

"He doesn't—Kyle doesn’t have family here in the city. The only threat holding him here is _me_ and I will _not_ be responsible for turning him dirty,” Miles says firmly. “I can't. Just like I won't be responsible for getting you all killed and—and whatever happened—God, could be _happening_ to Haywood right now. I'll take the files to Larkin and I’ll get him back."

"And what if he kills you on sight, takes the files, and then keeps Ryan?" Jack asks. Her voice is flat but Michael wants to curl away from the way it sounds hopeful, like if Miles has a good enough answer that this plan is the one to go for.

Miles turns to her. "I'll—I'll make sure he has Ry—Haywood with him and I'll hide the files somewhere. I'll tell him where they are only when Haywood is released."

Michael sees the nod of her head and he panics. They’re not doing this. They can’t do this. "This is fucking _stupid_ ," Michael yells. "You can't just trade in your career—your _life_ —for all of us."

"It's the best plan," Miles says, voice rising to match Michael's. His voice is firm, his body stiff like a statue or a soldier at attention. "It's not perfect but it has the best possible outcome for the most people."

"I don't give a shit if it's the best plan. It's fucking stupid," Michel growls. He takes a step toward Miles and shoves him, too pissed off to think twice about it. Miles stumbles back into Kyle who sets him back steady on his feet. "I don't give a shit about ‘best possible outcome’. I want the outcome where _you_ don't ruin your life just because—because you got involved with me!" He storms out of the living room leaving Miles looking lost behind him.

As he throws open the glass door, he hears Geoff whistle lowly. "Y'all got it so bad for each other, Christ. What's it been, like 3 weeks?" Michael slams the glass behind him, expecting for a moment that it would shatter, just like everything else.

\---------------

Michael leaves Miles and Kyle standing in a room with at _least_ three other people who very clearly do not care for them—he’s on the fence about Dooley at this point and as of yet, Tuggey hasn’t done or said anything to indicate displeasure but Free has been staring daggers at him since he arrived and his vote that Miles offer himself up with the files was a very clear message. If the thing between him and Dooley wasn’t so glaringly obvious, Miles might venture that Free was jealous.

Pattillo and Ramsey are a little preoccupied at the moment, but he has a feeling that if Haywood wasn’t missing, Miles would be getting either a verbal lashing or at the least, a very serious session of threats both vocal and physical. He honestly doesn’t think he could handle a threatening dad speech from Geoff Ramsey at this point in his life.

He swallows thickly and shrugs his shoulders in answer to Ramsey’s question. He can hear Kyle huff out a sigh behind him. “Should I—I should go talk to him, right?”

“No shit Sherlock,” Kyle mutters and it actually startles a laugh out of Ramsey. It’s higher pitched than Miles thought it would be, half wheezing and half giggling in a way that surprises him. Maybe it’s all the stories about what the Fakes have done and are capable of doing, but he didn’t think a crime boss would _giggle_.

“Now I don’t make it a habit of agreeing with cops,” Ramsey says, “but your partner is right. You fucked that up—“ Miles flinches “—and you and Michael got into this mess together. You better make yourself worth all this trouble.”

Miles very seriously restrains himself from saying ‘Yes sir’ and turns to look at Kyle. He raises an eyebrow in question, not really wanting to leave his best friend, a detective with the LSPD, in the company of some of the city’s most wanted criminals. Kyle rolls his eyes and makes a shooing motion with his hand. When Miles still doesn’t move, Kyle actually shoves him toward the door, earning an affronted noise from Miles and another quick laugh from Ramsey. On his way out, he hears Kyle introduce himself and accept Ramsey’s offered drink, so he thinks they’ll be okay.

Michael is sitting on the steps of the back porch, his feet in the dry grass of the lawn as he picks up small rocks and tosses them into the yard. Miles realizes has no idea where to start.

“Michael, I—“ he finally says, reaching out a hand to touch Michael’s shoulder.

Michael doesn’t turn to look at him. He takes a deep breath and says, “Stop.” Miles pulls his hand back like it’s been burned.

“I’m sor—“

“If you’re going to say you’re sorry you can shove your apology up your _ass_ , Luna,” Michael spits, standing suddenly and turning to Miles. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes just red enough to know that if he hasn’t shed a few tears, he was damn close to doing it.

Miles holds out his arms, palms facing the sky. “I don’t know what I can say then.”

“Say that the plan is fucking stupid and you’re not doing it,” Michael says, hard stubborn edge to his voice.

“Michael—“

He takes a step forward, pointer finger extended and poking roughly into Miles’ chest. “Why do you get to decide whose life is more important, huh? Why is _your_ life okay to sacrifice and mine isn’t?”

He makes a grab for Michael’s hand but it’s knocked away. Miles sighs, frustrated. “I’m not—Michael I’m not going there to get killed. There’s a chance—“

“You’ve been on to Larkin for all of 12 hours and I’ve been watching him for _weeks_ ,” Michael interjects. “I know what he’s capable of and if he betrayed his whole crew, left them to _die_ , that’s only the tip of the fucking iceberg.”

“This isn’t your fault,” Miles says abruptly and Michael flinches. They can dance around the idea of Larkin all goddamn day but it wouldn’t be addressing the real issue here. _Because you got involved with me_ echoes through Miles’ head and he _needs_ Michael to get this through his thick skull. “All the shit going on, Michael, is not your fault.”

Michael turns from him then, faces back to the yard and it’s slightly overgrown grass. “I know that,” he says softly.

Miles takes a tentative step forward. “Do you though? Do you really? Because from where I’m standing, you’re taking it out on yourself.”

“I was so fucking selfish,” Michael says. He turns back to Miles, body draw in on himself. Vulnerable. “I shouldn’t have come back to the station. I should have just _let it go_ but I fucking can’t. I’ve never been able to let stuff go, especially when it’s something I want.” He takes a step forward and Miles reaches out for him, gets a hand on his side through his thin t-shirt. Michael closes his eyes, brow furrowed. “And then I had you and I didn’t want to let _you_ go.”

“I didn’t want to let you go either,” Miles says and it’s stupid. This whole thing is stupid because they’ve only known each other for a few weeks but giving up Michael now would be _agony_. He grips the soft material of Michael’s shirt, drags him closer and Michael huffs out a laugh as he buries his face in Miles’ neck. “What?”

“I was just thinking about how fucked up this all is and yet, for all my fucking talk, I’m really not that sorry about it because—because I have _this_.” Miles takes a breath because he can fucking relate, especially here and now with his arms full of Michael and his nose pressed into his hair. “Please don’t go to Larkin,” Michael says against his skin.

Miles sighs. “I have to. Larkin’s too rich and too powerful to fight head on. We have to do this so we can survive to fight him a different way.”

Michael deflates but his hands grip the back of Miles’ shirt tightly. “I know.”

“I can survive a few months,” Miles says and he’s not lying. “I can make it through this if you promise me I’ll see you again when it’s all over.”

Michael pulls back to look up at Miles, mouth set in a hard line, eyes alight. “There’s not a damn thing in this world that could stop me.” The hand on the back of Miles’ neck is a little rough, the grip bordering on too tight but when his lips find Michael’s, when their mouths slide together, warm and slick and _right_ Miles can’t bring himself to care.

\--------

It’s only 20 minutes after Miles and Michael return inside, cheeks red and hair mussed—Miles wants to sink into the floor when he sees the sly grin from Jeremy, the enthusiastic thumbs up that Kyle shoots him, and especially the raised eyebrow from Ramsey—that Larkin calls. They’re discussing the details of the plan when Miles’ phone vibrates on the coffee table where he set it.

He snatches it off the polished wood and hits accept, clicking the screen to set it to speakerphone. “Larkin.”

“Hello, Detective! And I’m assuming the rest of the Fake AH Crew?”

“Gloat later, details now,” Ramsey barks and for the first time, Miles really sees how he got to be one of the most powerful men in the city.

Larkin laughs and Miles sees Pattillo tense across the table. He can’t imagine what she’s thinking, God if it had been Michael—“Oh come on now Geoff! Can’t a guy have a little fun?”

“Not at the expense of human lives,” Miles snaps. “Now give us the details so we can get this over with.”

“Don’t be hasty, Luna,” Larkin shoots back. “After all, you and I are going to get to know each other very well. At least until your law enforcement career is over.”

Miles bites his tongue, wishing for the world he could yell and scream and curse Larkin out. It wouldn’t help the situation but _god_ would he feel better for it. Michael entwines their fingers, giving Miles’ hand a gentle squeeze. It’s reassuring, grounding and Miles takes a deep breath. “I’ll bring you the files but I want to see Haywood before you get them. I want to see him walk and then you get everything you want.”

“Everything I want,” Larkin says wistfully. “Just the way I like things to be. Deal, Luna. I’ll release Haywood—I’ll make sure to tell my boys to leave his legs so he _can_ walk—“ Tuggey puts an arm around Pattillo who nearly lunges for the phone “—and then I get the files. And you of course, my brand new _employee_.”

“Deal,” Miles says, voice strong even though he feels like he might puke.

Larkin gives the details for the meeting, which Gavin takes down with a shaking hand. He laughs once more and it sends a shiver down Miles’ spine. “See you soon, Luna!” he chuckles and then the line goes dead. The room collectively lets out a breath and Miles sighs heavily.

“I really hope you’re right about this plan, Detective,” Tuggey says.

Miles looks to Michael who meets his gaze, no hesitation. “Me too,” he says. “Me fucking too.”


	11. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles shows up, there's a showdown, some action, and holy shit, this is the end.

The address leads him to the outskirts of the city, to a run down, frankly decrepit looking building. The chain link fence surrounding it is rusted and cut in various places from years of kids and gangs breaking in. The building itself is a sprawling two-story thing, made of mostly brick and Miles assumes, asbestos.

There are two streetlights lighting the small front parking lot, one of them flickering an offbeat rhythm. Miles pulls up his car and stops under it. It goes out and stays out as he opens his door.

"That's aggressively ominous," he mutters as he stands. He crosses to the back of the car, popping the trunk. He takes his gun and his badge from his belt, tucks them in next to the spare tire. There’s a knife stuck in the rubber of the spare, a gift from Pattillo as he was leaving. _If you don’t know how to use it, get it to Ryan. He’s more proficient than any of us combined_ , she had said. Watching the most terrifying woman he’s met since his mother stab a knife seamlessly through a thick rubber tire was certainly—eye opening. He slides it into a sheath and then into his pocket.

Most of the building is dark but he can see lights in the top left corner and there are some lighting up the bottom floor as well. "Probably an office on the top floor," he says under his breath, taking in the scene. Miles walks his way to the front of the building, avoiding the scattered broken bottles and other trash. As he gets closer he sees a sign and he stares, mouth slack. "A slaughterhouse,” he says, disbelieving. “Are you fucking kidding me? The amount cliché in my _goddamn_ life."

There’s a massive rusted metal door under the sign and he grabs the handle to pull it open. It squeals loudly and his face scrunches up at the noise. His hands are stained red from the rust but he does his best to rub it off on his pants before walking into the room. “I feel like I need a tetanus shot just standing here,” he grumbles.

The room is lit, though very dimly. There’s a spotlight pointing at the center where Haywood is secured to a chair. His hands bound behind him, his ankles tied to the legs, and he’s been gagged by a white cloth. Miles takes in the scene before him and can’t help saying, "Really Larkin? Couldn't get more creative than this?” He looks around and doesn’t see anyone but Haywood lifts his head to glare at Miles, which he pointedly ignores. “Guy tied to a chair in the middle of the room under a spotlight?" There doesn’t appear to be anyone else in the room so he takes a step toward Haywood, whose eyes go a little wide as he shakes his head slightly.

"What can I say, I'm a fan of the classics,” a voice says, coming from the dark to the left of Haywood. There’s a loud _click_ like the throwing of a switch and then the electric buzz of old lights turning on. Larkin stands to the side next to a large machine that has _way_ too many sharp parts for Miles’ liking. It looks like they’ve moves all the old slaughtering and butchering machines off to the edges of the room to make a space in the middle. Miles does his best to clock the number of bad guys but loses count after 12.

The place looks almost like a prison in the way it’s set up. The large bottom floor is wide open and the floor above is really just a jutting of catwalks that crisscross from one walkway to another. It looks like there are offices on either end where the second story has more of finished feeling. Massive windows overlook the bottom floor, presumably for the managers to watch production when the building was still in use. The office opposite the end of the room is the one lit and Miles thinks he sees another couple men inside. He also makes note of two huge skylights.

“Huh, nice sky lights. Very classy,” he mutters. “Got enough goons, Larkin? You don’t think over a dozen is a _little_ excessive?” Miles asks. “I’m here to do what you want, not to start a damn war.” His palms are sweating because if this doesn’t work, they’re _fucked_. Haywood shoots him a look, a little curious but mostly just really pissed off.

Larkin laughs as he stands behind Haywood, resting a hand on his shoulder. Ryan tries to throw him off, but his grip tightens and Haywood makes a pained noise. The closer Miles looks, the more bandages and bloodstains he can see on The Vagabond. There’s a deep bruise on his right cheek and a cut on the opposite eyebrow. Under where Larkin’s hand rests, Miles realizes there’s the telltale brown stain of dried blood and he can see the white dress of gauze under the dirty, ragged looking shirt.

“And I appreciate that, Detective. Now where are my files?”

Miles swallows, watches one of the goons check the clip of his gun as casually as one might check their watch for the time. “I told you,” he says, surprised at the strength in his voice. “Haywood walks and _then_ you get the files.”

The grin Larkin sends his way is wicked and Miles feels his stomach drop. “Alternatively, you take me to the files or I shoot The Vagabond in the head.” To his credit, Haywood doesn’t flinch when the cold metal presses against his temple. He looks straight ahead at Miles, watching him carefully.

“What do I care?” Miles asks and Haywood’s eyes widen. “He’s a fucking criminal. Getting him out of here was just a favor _if_ I could manage it.” The knife in his pocket feels heavy where it rests against his thigh but he doesn’t move except to tilt his head when Larkin looks surprised.

“But aren’t you—“

Miles laughs and it sounds cold even to his own ears. “Aren’t I what? Fucking Jones?” He shrugs his shoulders. “He’s a good lay but it’s not like we’re gonna run away to get married or anything. They’re all fucking criminals, who gives a shit about them honestly?” Miles’ eyes flick to one of the men on the catwalk above them and Larkin watches him. “What? You seriously thought I’d fuck up my whole life just because the guy gave a good blowjob? They’re the scum I’ve been working against my whole life. Why should I care if you kill his crew?” Haywood growls, tries to lunge forward but Larkin presses the gun more forcefully into his skin. Larkin likes to talk, he likes to work out all the pieces. Miles just needs to buy Haywood a little more time.

Silence stretches through the room and Miles thinks it might be okay, this might work. And then a slow _clap, clap, clap_ , echoes through the room. Larkin turns as Marquette steps out from the shadows, gun still pressed against Haywood’s temple. “You’re supposed to be in the office,” he hisses. “With the rest of your lackeys.”

“I just _had_ to come down and watch Luna’s performance,” Marquette says, sly grin on his face. He looks to Miles. “That was pretty good, Luna. For a second there, you almost had me convinced.” His laugh echoes the same way his clapping did. “Larkin, this is the guy who doesn’t pull his gun unless he has to. Won’t go for kill shots, won’t get his hands dirty. You believe he’s just gonna let you _kill_ Haywood? He’s _stalling_.”

Miles clenches his fists. “What—“

“Marquette what the fuck are you talking about?” Larkin demands. He looks sort of put out that someone else has taken over the show and Miles realizes that that’s exactly what this whole thing is. It’s what it’s always been. All the cliché standoffs, the phone calls, the _slaughterhouse_. Larkin is, first and foremost, a showman and Miles knows now _who_ he is—who he used to be. God, it’s been there the whole fucking time. He’s an _idiot_.

“Murray,” Miles almost shouts. “You’re Alexander Murray.” Larkin and Marquette both snap to look at him.

Larkin takes a half-step forward. “How the fuck—“

“It was rumored that you were one of the Warlord guys but there was no proof,” Miles says, brain whirring as he connects the pieces. “I remember Hullum mentioning it but even he thought it was only a rumor.”

“What the fuck is he talking about, Larkin?” Marquette looks confused and a little bit nervous. Larkin shushes him as he takes another step toward Miles. Haywood pulls at his ropes, trying to get free.

Miles looks to Marquette. “Alexander Murray was the go-to face man in Los Santos for _years_. He worked freelance and took jobs with crews as their in for whatever they were doing. He was good too. Always put on a _hell_ of a show. He disappeared not long before the end of the Warlords.” Miles stands his ground, but slides a hand into his pocket.

Larkin advances another step, gun pointed at Miles now, his arm outstretched. “I want to know how you _know_ all this! I was careful, there’s no way—“

“You got my father killed,” Miles says and everyone freezes. He can feel all the eyes in the room on him and he wills himself to keep it together. Larkin’s mouth hangs open and Haywood is looking at him, eyes wide. “I was—I was young but I remember him being _excited_ about you.”

“What—“

“Pacific Standard, 1995,” Miles clarifies, voice hardening. “You were supposed to get them in somehow, I can’t remember what my mom said. She doesn’t like to talk about it, understandably, but when I became a cop I asked her to tell me.” He closes his hand around the hilt of the knife in his pocket. Larkin steps closer and Miles sidesteps, keeping the distance between them the same. Marquette takes a step toward Haywood and Miles can feel the tension in the room rising.

“I don’t—“

“Remember? Hell, I don’t expect you to,” Miles laughs. He’s made his peace with this; he’s been working his way through what happened for most of his life. There’s a _reason_ he became a cop, after all. “It was a long time ago and you’ve done so much worse to this city than just taking a kid’s dad away.”

“How do you know who I am?” Larkin asks again, gun still pointing at Miles. “Why do you know so much about _Murray_?”

“When I joined up with the LSPD, I learned everything there was to know about Alexander Murray. I knew aliases, hideouts, and affiliations. All the times you turned on gangs to get the reward money from the police, like you did to my dad and his buddies. I kept your file next to my fucking _bed_ ,” Miles spits. He glances at Marquette and then back to the gun trained on his face. “It was why I was so invested in the Warlords case when I was new. I had heard the rumors and I wanted a piece of the action but Hullum wouldn’t let me go.” Larkin’s jaw tenses and Miles wants to laugh in his face. “And then? You disappeared and I hoped you were fucking dead.”

“I worked hard to make sure no one ever recognized me,” Larkin says. “I paid a lot of money for a new identity—a new face, a new _life_.”

“You should ask for a refund,” Miles suggests and Larkin growls. “You’re smart,” he goes on. “I’ll definitely give you that but you’re still a piece of shit who doesn’t _listen_.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Miles grins and then nods at Haywood. Thankfully, the guy gets it and Miles can see his body tense as he readies himself. “It’s about to get a little loud,” Miles says, almost like a sidebar to the goons in the room surrounding him. “But for once, Marquette wasn’t _wrong_.”

“I’m getting really fucking _tired_ of asking what the fuck is going on!” Larkin yells. His finger is on the trigger of his pistol now and Miles hopes to _God_ all the work he’s been doing at the gym will pay off. Hopes he’s fast enough to get the fuck out of the way.

His grin grows, borders on a little bit wild as he says, “I _was_ stalling.” A gun goes off and the room _erupts_ into chaos.

\--------------

Michael Jones has never been a patient man. His mother would always say _Patience is a virtue_ and he’d shoot back _Our family has never been big on virtue anyway_ and they would laugh together. Right now, he’s definitely not laughing.

“Jack—“

“We _can’t_ go in yet, Michael. Luna hasn’t given the signal,” she replies. She’s concentrating on keeping the cargobob high enough not to be seen, but close enough that the wire that Miles is wearing still transmits. Geoff is sitting next to her in the cockpit while Kyle and Michael hover over them. Jeremy and Gavin are talking quietly in the back with Lindsay, Mica, and Trevor who Geoff had called in as backup. Mica will be staying with the cargobob to provide extraction while Trevor sets up on the roof to provide sniper fire.

The audio from Miles’ wire is being broadcast to all of their earpieces but Geoff didn’t think it was a good idea to have Miles himself wear one too, so their communication is one-way. “The last thing we need is for Larkin to spot an earpiece and shoot Luna on sight,” Geoff had explained but it’s still hard for Michael to be able to hear Miles but not actually talk to him.

“Do we even have a real signal?” Kyle asks.

“As much as I hate to say it,” Jeremy calls from the back, “He’s pretty smart. I’m sure we’ll be able to tell when he wants us to move.”

“If we can fucking hear him.” Mica gives them all a pointed look and they snap their mouths closed to listen.

The plan is basically to have Jack and Mica switch seats at some point and then drop in from above. Originally they were going to come from the side, having Mica set them down outside the building but when Miles mentioned the skylights, they made adjustments.

It's going to be a clusterfuck, of that Michael is sure.

"Hold the fuck on," Geoff says suddenly. "Did he say Alexander Murray?"

Kyle pops his head over in between the two seats. "Who?"

"Luna!"

"No, who the fuck is Alexander Murray!"

"He's _the_ face," Gavin says from the back. He stands carefully and makes his way up to the front. "The guy who practically wrote the book on modern day conning. I learned a lot from reading up on his work."

“So he’s the guy who taught you how to be a fucking prick?” Trevor asks and Mica smacks him.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Geoff says. "How is it that this gets more and more complicated the longer it goes on?"

"Well we _are_ involved," Trevor pipes up from the back. "That's generally how we roll."

"Can everybody shut the fuck up? What did Miles just say?" Kyle shouts. Michael missed it entirely, glad that Kyle has gotten them back on track.

"Murray got his father killed." Jack's voice is devoid of emotion, cold and harsh sounding, nothing like she usually is. She's been like that since they left.

Geoff throws his hands up in the air. "What the fuck! We've been separated for like 15 goddamn minutes and there's this big of a plot twist?"

“Mica,” Jack says, sharply. “Let’s do this so I can get ready. You think you can hold her?”

Geoff climbs into the back and Mica pushes her way forward, bumping against Michael and shooting him a smile. “Can do boss. I learned from the best, you know.”

“Kiss ass later!” Jeremy yells. “Fly the helicopter now! Lets get this fucking show on the road.”

Everyone situates themselves in the back, Jeremy, Michael, and Kyle strapping themselves in. Trevor's got his sniper rifle out and trained on the city below. Mica starts their drop, slow and steady just like they’d talked about. The cargobob is still loud as fuck, but they found a way to mask its running lights enough that they won’t be spotted if anyone happens to look up.

They're close to 50 feet from the roof when Miles says, “ _It’s about to get a little loud_ ,” and Michael decides that’s as clear a signal as they’re ever going to get. Geoff opens his mouth to give the order when they hear the gunshot over the comms. Everything moves fast from there.

Trevor shoots the glass of the skylight under them and Mica drops the cargobob a little further—and a little fast for Gavin's liking based on the strangled noise he makes—to a safe distance and they all take off. Michael, Kyle, and Jeremy rappelling through the skylight and Jack, Gavin, Geoff, and Lindsay finding their way down into the building using either roof access stairs or the fire escapes on the outside walls.

Trevor jumps out and keeps firing through the window at the goons to give the three of them some cover while they drop from the side of the helicopter.

It's frankly cinematic as shit.

Inside, all hell is breaking loose. Some of the lackeys are firing back at Trevor, some are trying to get a line of sight on Jack and Gavin who just blew through the roof access door. Someone—it might have been Michael—gave Gavin modified sticky bombs with a smaller blast radius and he's taking out some of the higher up baddies. He also might blowing up huge chunks of the catwalks, but hey, when you make an omelet you gotta crack some eggs.

On the other side, Geoff and Lindsay are wreaking havoc. Lindsay’s borrowed Michael's mini gun and she honestly looks _good_ wielding it. Good enough that Michael makes a note that it may be a perfect Christmas gift this year. If they all survive this. The goons are tougher than they were expecting, but this is the Fake AH Crew and being outnumbered and kicking ass is kind of their thing. Gavin lets out a whoop as another bad guy explodes and Michael feels the familiar rush of being on the job surge through him.

Kyle’s handling himself really well after only a brief explanation on the rappelling ropes. His feet hit the ground right after Michael’s and he fires a shot directly at the guy who’d popped up behind to take aim at Jeremy. Jeremy lands with a thud and claps Kyle on the back. They’re pretty exposed, but the rest of the crew is doing some serious work.

In the center of the room is a busted up chair surrounded by cut up ropes but no Ryan, no Miles, no Larkin. Michael’s stomach sinks to his feet. There’s a man rolling around on the floor, blood pooling beneath his head and his hands where he’s grabbing at his face. Michael can see the hilt of the knife Jack gave Miles sticking out from between the guy’s fingers.

“Marquette.” Kyle walks over, kicks the guy in the side. He howls in pain but doesn’t say anything, doesn’t seem to recognize Kyle.

Jeremy joins him. He looks from Kyle to the man on the floor before raising his gun. “This the guy who was gonna kill Miles? The one who took Ryan?” Kyle nods and Jeremy nods back. He shoots Marquette in the head and then looks back to the detective.

Kyle just shrugs and says, "I didn't see shit. We probably found him like this."

Jeremy laughs, clapping Kyle on the back. "I knew I liked you, Detective."

Michael bends down to look at the rope and notices a small blood trail on the ground. It leads away to a set of stairs that must go into a basement or something. Possibly extra storage or a freezer. Miles did say it was slaughterhouse. "You guys got this?" he asks, tapping his earpiece. Another explosion rocks the building and Gavin cackles.

"We're good boi!"

Michael looks to Jeremy who's grinning wide, taking in the sight of the explosions. "I'll stay here if you don't mind. I like watching him do his thing,” he says, gesturing to Gavin.

Kyle puts his hand up in front of his mouth and stage whispers to Michael, "They're so in love it's _disgusting_." Gavin makes a noise over the comms, something between a squawk and a squeal.

"Shut up Gav," Jeremy yells, not even bothering to broadcast over the radios. He's a few feet away now and has got one of the goons in a headlock. "You know it, I know it, fuck even this guy knows it probably." He gestures to the guy who nods quickly. Jeremy snaps his neck. “And I’m gonna prove it to you after all this is done.”

Geoff laughs loud as Lindsay says, “ _Finally_.”

"Go find our boys," Jack tells Michael and his heart jumps. He sees her standing up next to Gavin, giving him covering fire. She grins down at him. "And bring Ryan back in one piece so I can kick his ass."

"You got it, Jack," Michael says. He raises his gun and moves toward the stairs, Kyle behind him.

They follow the stairs down to a hallway and Michael can still see the blood trail sticking to the floor. It leads to the end and a large metal door with a tiny window at the top. Michael holds his hand up in a fist and Kyle stops behind him. He puts his hand on the handle and looks back to the detective. “You ready?” he whispers. Kyle gives him a short nod and adjusts his grip on his pistol. Michael steels himself to pull the door open, sets his feet, takes a deep breath and—twin gunshots echo from inside.

\------

Miles somehow gets the ties on Haywood cut even with his ears still ringing from the gunshot and his limbs shaking. They start to escape from the pandemonium, following Larkin who’s making a break for the stairs at the side of the room. Miles throws Haywood’s arm over his shoulder and they limp after him when he feels a hand grab onto the back of his jacket and yank him. The two go flying, dislodging Haywood and sending them both crashing to the ground.

“You little prick,” Marquette yells, advancing on them, fists balled and ready for a fight. Haywood is trying to pick himself up off the floor but he slips, his limbs still weak from being tied for so long. Miles scrambles to his feet, hands up in defense. His shoulder is aching from diving out of the way of Larkin’s bullet but he thinks he can hold his own if he needs to. The knife is gone, lost in the fray after Marquette dumped them both to the floor. “I’m going to _kill you_.” He swings wildly at Miles who dodges and strikes back with a punch of his own. It connects with Marquette’s cheek and he howls in pain. “You mother fucker,” Marquette growls. The butt of his gun catches Miles on his next swing and pain blossoms through his head as he slams to the ground. He blinks, trying to get a handle on where he is, where Marquette is, and his vision focuses in on the barrel of a gun.

“Wish I could have killed you _years_ ago,” Marquette is saying. “You were always a little shit. Don’t know why Hullum ever liked you so much.” His finger tightens on the trigger and Miles thinks wildly that he’s going to break his promise to Michael. He _promised_ he’d survive—that they’d see each other again. He closes his eyes and waits.

Marquette starts to _scream_.

When Miles opens his eyes, there’s a knife sticking out from between Marquette’s fingers and blood already seeping through. He looks around wildly and sees Haywood on his knees, his breathing harsh. “I—I don’t—“ Miles starts. He offers Haywood a hand to help him up.

Ryan takes it and shoots a grin in the detective’s direction. “Thank me later. Lets go get that Larkin dickhead, yeah?”

“Yeah, sounds fucking good to me.” He grabs the gun from the floor and hands it to Ryan. “You’re a better shot than I’ll probably ever be,” he says with a shrug. “You good to walk or you want some help?”

Haywood stands on shaky legs and throws an arm over Miles’ shoulders again. The grin on his face is eager and excited. This is The Vagabond, the guy who lives for chaos and the thrill of the heist and they’re going after the guy who just made his last 24 hours hell. He’s not missing this for the world, Miles realizes. Miles returns the grin when Haywood says, “Lets get him.”

The stairs lead to a hallway and the hallway to a door at the end. It shuts as they stumble their way down. Miles props Haywood up against the wall behind the door and crouches next to the handle. Upstairs there are gunshots and explosions that are making dust fall from the ceiling. “Who the hell gave Gavin the sticky bombs?” Haywood mutters. He looks down at Miles who’s trying to listen for sounds inside the room. “You got a plan, Detective?”

Miles squints and then rubs a hand over his eyes. “I’m kind of still waiting to see if my _first_ plan pans out to be honest, but I’m sure I can think of something?”

The sound of the gun cocking is loud in the quiet hallway, even with the noises coming from upstairs. “I’ll follow your lead.”

“I thought you hated me,” Miles says. “Michael made it kind of clear that I am _not_ your favorite person.”

Haywood shrugs. “You came to get me. And you didn’t let Larkin shoot me, even if you did call me _scum_. That’s at least _two_ points in your favor.”

“You know I was just—“

“I know, I know,” he replies, waving his hand. “I liked it. It’s a very old school insult.”

Miles huffs out a laugh. “Just out of curiosity, what’s the highest the scale of your favor runs to?”

Haywood grins at him, sharp and focused in a way that makes Miles feel like prey caught in a trap. “You don’t wanna know.”

“You’re probably right.”

\---------

Miles is shocked when there are no gunshots as soon as he opens the door. The room looks like some sort of freezer changed into a storage room. There are large crates stacked all over the room and dusty boxes piled in corners. It’s like a maze; a grimy, creepy, maze. He runs through the plan he and Hayw—Ryan had half-assed in the hall and steps in. Larkin is nowhere to be seen, but the freezer doesn’t seem to have any other exits.

“Larkin, it’s fucking over,” he calls into the dimly lit room as he makes his way slowly in down the middle aisle of crates.

“Talk about cliché,” Larkin’s laughs. “You gonna give me a speech about how I should turn myself in?” He steps out from behind a crate toward the end of the row and aims his gun at Miles.

“Nah, not this time,” Miles replies. He keeps his eyes locked on the other man.

Larkin’s eyes drop to Miles’ hands, noting the lack of weapon. He grins. “Is this the part where I’m supposed to monologue about how I did everything?”

Miles shrugs. “I mean, I’m kind of hearing you talk actually so lets just skip that.”

“That’s fucking ballsy coming from the man who’s got no gun,” he says. “Oh, wait. Is this the part where I tell you I remember your dear old dad and you have an emotional moment? Where I’m supposed to waste time when I could just shoot you?”

“This is the part,” Miles says, “where you fucking die, you piece of shit.”

“Oh yeah?” Larkin sniggers. “You gonna _glare_ me to death?” He adjusts his grip on his gun, aiming it directly at Miles’ head.

“I’m not going to do anything, Larkin,” Miles states. His eyes flick over Larkin’s shoulder. “The Vagabond on the other hand…”

Ryan rises to his feet behind him, aiming Marquette’s gun right at Larkin whose eyes go wide. Miles dives behind a crate just a Larkin’s gun goes off followed directly by Ryan’s. The sound the body makes as it hits the floor is one of the most satisfying things Miles has ever heard. He crawls back to his feet and back around to the front of the crate just in time to see Michael and Kyle skid around the corner.

“Holy shit, Miles! Are you—did he—“ Michael asks, stepping closer.

"It's totally fine! He missed!" Miles wiggles his left arm and hisses looking down at the tear in his suit jacket. "Okay, mostly missed. Just a graze!" His face goes pale and he suddenly crumples to his knees. Michael rushes over, catching him before he totally hits the ground. Oh, right.

"Miles, what the fuck!" Michael pushes off his suit jacket to get a look at the wound on his arm and realizes there’s another on Miles’ right shoulder, the white of his shirt stained red nearly all the way down to his belt. A bullet wound.

"Huh," Miles says, looking at the blood. “Guess I forgot about that one." He's gripping at Michael's upper arm almost painfully but he grins up from where he's slumped against his side.

"You—you _forgot_!?"

“Not forgot, I guess. Didn’t notice? There was a lot going on! Larkin shot at me but I had to get Ryan on the move. I did this sweet action roll and I thought he missed me? I had other things on my mind!" And he's still grinning up at Michael like an idiot, only breaking for a second to suck in a breath when Michael presses his hand onto the wound to slow the sluggish bleeding. “Adrenaline is a hell of a drug.”

Miles' grip is getting looser and he can tell he's fading. He _can’t_ , he can’t pass out on Michael, not now. "What the fuck are you grinning at, asshat? You got fucking shot!" Michael says, his voice strangled. One of his hands comes to rest on Miles’ cheek, his fingers are slick with blood. Miles wants to kiss him.

"Yeah but you're here so I'm gonna be fine," he says waving his hand close enough to Michael's face that the other man has to lean back, the frown on his face deepening. "Aw, Mr. Grump," Miles slurs. He can hear Kyle calling for backup, for someone to help. "Cheer up, Jones.” He uses his fingertips to try to smooth out the worry lines from Michael's forehead. "I'm gonna be fine," he says seriously. "Michael look at me." And Michael tears his eyes away from the blood on the front of Miles' shirt. "We're okay, yeah?"

Michael manages a smile and leans down to touch his forehead against Miles'. "Yeah, of course." The warmth of his skin makes Miles want to curl up and fall asleep. Or maybe that’s the shock. It could totally be that too.

Miles laughs, "Good, now get me somewhere where there are pain meds, this shit _hurts_. And let's never do this again."

Michael grins at him, stupid and soft and _fond_. "You got it, Miles. No fucking arguments here." Miles can’t stop himself from pulling gently at Michael’s shirt and pressing a kiss to his lips.

“I’m fine, by the way,” Ryan calls from the back of the aisle where he’s leaning against a pile of boxes. The last thing Miles remembers for a while is the feeling of Michael’s laugh against his skin. It feels good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY FUCKING SHIT YOU GUYS. IT'S OVER! IT'S DONE! Thank you so so so so so much for reading and for commenting and for ENCOURAGING ME!!!!! I LOVE YOU.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr @thilesluna
> 
> EDIT: it's DONE! Thank you so much EVERYONE who read and commented and shared this with other people. I had an incredible time writing it and even more fun talking to you all about it!!!!!!
> 
> There may be an epilogue at some point but I'm not 100% sure on that or not. There will DEFINITELY be other works within this 'verse because I LOVE IT A LOT and it's basically my happy place now.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Gang Saves a Detective Named Luna](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8620483) by [ShadeOfAzmeinya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadeOfAzmeinya/pseuds/ShadeOfAzmeinya)




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